On the outskirts of Piltover is located a building founded by a small group of Yordle inventors led by the world famous scientist and inventor, Cecil B. Heimerdinger. This building was founded in the name of scientific pursuits and the betterment of all intelligent life in Runeterra, as well as foster closer relations between mankind and yordles through such endeavors. With all of these pursuits in mind, Heimerdinger and a select group of like minded yordles made their way from their homeland to the City of Progress to found the Yordle Academy of Science & Progress.
All who show scientific aptitude and a thirst for knowledge are welcome within it's halls, and there are many different advanced courses taught by both yordle and humans in the pursuit of advanced knowledge and a better understanding of the mechanical and scientific wonders in Runeterra. All are welcome at the Academy, but hostile actions will result in hostile repercussions, as some of the devices housed in the Research and Development labs under the supervision of Heimerdinger himself could possibly be dangerous, and any who would choose to act with hostility will be detained or forcibly removed for the safety of the Academy, Piltover, and the person in question.
A Day in Piltover (Open RP)
List of Places
Dorms- These house the students and professors that attend and teach at the Academy.
Mechanical Engineering- This wing of the college is dedicated to various classes and projects about learning to contruct and maintain various scientific objects, as well as learning more about the theories behind their construction.
Science and Discovery- This wing is dedicated to scientific theory and learning to conduct research and collect the necessary data to pursue projects in the realm of science. This also houses the classrooms where Explosives 101, Bomb Disposal, and Advanced Demolition are oversaw by the Dean of Demolitions, Ziggs.
Medical Wing- With great science... also may come great injury. To treat such mishaps the Academy is outfitted with a state of the art medical facility to treat, quarantine, and protect against all injuries current and future.
Research and Development- This wing is dedicated to the highest echelon of learning, and the team that works here is oversaw directly by Heimerdinger. Many projects that are extremely dangerous or beneficial can be found here, but it is under the highest security and trespassers will be taken seriously.
Ahh, the Yordle Academy & Science and Progress! Founded for the dear advancement of the sciences. Teeming numbers of scientists and engineers exploring the depths of their fields, striving for great things. Truly a respectable and prominent institution of higher learning.
Certainly no one would ever deign to permeate such a fine building with devious and malicious intent....would they?
Well, perhaps all but one short fused short standing blue-furred yordle with a vindictive and pernicious vendetta against one of the top minds in Valoran--Nay, in all of Runeterra....
The crisp morning sun shines brightly in the clear blue-gray sky of a newly awakened day ringing with the prosper of Piltover's precocious promise toward a better, brighter tomorrow. Every Piltovian citizen going about their day in the hustle and bustle of the city's vast steel and stone jungle. Great buildings towering high into the sky as if they intend to study the stars themselves directly.
The glimmering skyline of big tall shiny buildings glinting a reflection of the city in their massive glossy windows signify this city as more than just science but artistic endeavor too. For the mind is as artistic as it is ingenious.
Down beneath the high arching skyscrapers erected like testaments to man's enterprise unto the heavens walks another of the scientific authority whose diminutive stature (even amongst his kind) is by no means a measurement of his giant intellect...although it may be indicative of his short temper. Rumble, the self-described Mechanized Menace, keeps a wary eye out from underneath the obscuring hood of a cloak dressing him. In his right hand he carries a brown paper bag no bigger than a tool box. On the outside reads 'FILLY'S FISH' accompanied by a picture of a smiling cartoony fish wearing a fisherman's bucket hat.
He keeps his head down amongst the thronging denizens coming to and fro; Never has he been a great fan of the giant human cities that always make him feel so much smaller, not to mention how loud and hectic they can oft be.
Over the streets, pass each district he follows a great mass of people close together, like a school of fish. Some of them plucky young and budding tinkerers, some of them aged wizen and sophic scholars. Occasionally some break off to move along a different district only for a different grouping coming down the opposite direction to take their place.
While they walk, Rumble opens the bag and pulls out a map of Piltover and begins reading a pre-planned route highlighted in green ink he made earlier.
"Take a left at Pordish Street....Another left down Tencent Avenue...a right at---OOF!"
Suddenly Rumble finds himself planted on the ground after a run in with something hard and unforgiving. He looks up, eyebrow cocked in irritation. Before him is a wiry and multi-armed robot built out of the sidewalk off to the side. Evidently he had walked right into it without noticing due to his attention pouring over the wrinkled map looking for his way through the labyrinthine city.
"What the..." Rumble grouses, rubbing his forehead where it made contact with the steel outer shell of the automaton. Immediately the robot spins a head around and angles its optic camera-eye down at the accidentally seated yordle.
"GOOD MORNING, SIR. WOULD YOU LIKE YOUR SHOES SHINED? NAILS CLIPPED? HAIR CUT? PERHAPS A CUP OF OUR CITY-RECYCLED WATER GUARANTEED FRESH AND 99.9 PERCENT CLEAN OF ANY BACTERIAL AGENTS?" The robot screeches in a tinny sharp mechanical voice, mouth guard lighting up with every syllable while the ogling camera lens twists and turns, zooming in.
"Uh--No thank---" Rumble replies rather cautiously of the loud and obnoxious robot.
"ONE SEWAGE-RECLAIMED WATER COMING UP. PLEASE WAIT ONE MOMENT." It retorts, evidently not hearing him. A spidery metal arm unfolds to attend to a compartment in the main chasis that pops open. Within a small paper cup falls down from some hidden shaft to be immediately followed by a spurt of water.
"I said I don't want an---" He begins only to be cut off again.
"TASK COMPLETE." It thrusts a cup of water at Rumble who takes it in his free hand.
"CHANGE IS 0.68 CENTS." Inexplicably the machine furthers, even though he hadn't paid anything. The robo-arm that gave him the cup has a palm that opens up to reveal a small hole from which is ejected a few coins for change. Each one ploips into the cup of water. Rumble, confused, looks down at the pocket money and grimaces to see his water fouled.
"THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATRONAGE, CITIZEN."
With that the robot spins back around, arm folding up into a different compartment of the cylindrical metal structure. Rumble is left thoroughly offput by the strange initiative the street robot had to service him.
"...Stupid robot..." Rumble grumbles under his breath as he tosses the cup into a nearby trash bin and moves to rejoin the current of people flowing forward.
"NO, YOU." He hears in the same metallic voice. He turns around indignified only to see the back of the robot's head. Rumble glares begrudgingly at it and slowly goes back to the crowd.
Eventually Rumble finds himself mingling amongst a group of younger yordle and human pupils being led by a probable chaperone, perhaps a teacher or just a tour guide. They train their way toward the prestigious Yordle Academy for Science and Progress, large reverent eyes and cheerful, curious faces brimming with joy to be headed towards the large flat steps leading up to the architecturally impressive entrance, two large twin wooden doors carved with various figures posed in the vein of classic art. Rumble tags along behind them, eying the building as though it were a signature of yordle separation, built for the toil of yordle scientists at the fettering authority of human overseers come to collect like fat cats cashing in. He shakes his head in disdain.
Regardless, Rumble follows the group right up to the entrance of the campus before hanging back while they advance, ignorant of the fact the short blue yordle was even there in the first place.
"Step One: Disguise...check." Rumble muses with a wry, devious smile thinning his lips as he opens the bag and pulls from within a pair of sunglasses and a fake mustache-beard combo. He puts both on, snapping the elastic string over the back of his head while the sunglasses rest on his nose, obscuring his face surprisingly well behind the over-sized shades and the fluffy beard that reaches partway down his chest. That in tandem with the lack of his signature mohawk (having left it down instead of styling it up) and the hooded cloak, he hopes will hide his appearance for whatever mischievous plans he intends.
Rumble proceeds onward, closing the bag back up. The twin heavy wooden doors swing open for him as he's met with the main atrium where in lies the front desk. His boots clack against the polished clean surface of the linoleum flooring as he moves up to the front desk where a stout yordle girl sits, blonde hair tied up in a series of buns in vibrant 'hip' fashion. She's painting her nails when she sees Rumble approach, shooting him a congenial smile, making sure to flash her pearly teeth while her prominent bust is painfully promoted by what appears to be a cinched tight corset underneath her formal outfit.
"Hello! How may I help you? You're not with that Bandle group that just came through, are you?" The woman whose nametag reads 'Stacy' asks.
"Uh---Oh, No. I'm here for a lunch deliver to the order of.....Of..." Rumble says and raises the paper bag with the smiling fish when he realizes he didn't look up a name before hand.
'Craaaap! Think, Rumble, Think!' He panics to himself. In the meantime of his unfortunate epiphany he gives her a wide, inconspicuous smile. 'Uhm....'
She raises an eyebrow, slowly becoming suspicious.
What a shot in dark.
Rumble's smile stays wide and desperate.
"Oh!" Her face lights up, dismissing any doubtful reaction. "Professor Pennyworthsmithburg!"
'What...!?' He has a stunned celebration wondering how in the name of the Gods that managed to work. Still, he doesn't question it. A fanatic might take this as a sign of his crusade....
"Hey wait a minute..." She begins.
'Damn it!' The mental party is cut short.
"I didn't know Filly's delivers..." She questions.
"Um...New policy?" Rumble suggests feebly, giving a shrug.
"Oh, how interesting...Good!" The woman nods then tears a little paper slip off of a roll. It bears 'VISITOR'. Under that is written 'Delivery for Prof. Pennyworthsmithburg -- 11:42 A.M., Stacy'. She passes it forward and Rumble sticks it to his chest.
"He's on the second floor, room 219 over in the Science and Discovery wing. Just take the elevator down the hall and his room should be on the right side. Have a good afternoon..!" She bids, giving another smile. Rumble nods and turns away.
Rumble continues off in the direction he was pointed by the pudgy and prim little woman, passing by the various classrooms, past the walls decorated with various posters for campus extra-curricular clubs and other events. His eyes wander, taking in the admittedly impressive expanse of all these rooms dedicated to such progressive and state of the art learning...
He stops himself when he looks to the right and spots the office of his best buddy, Ziggs. On a glossy bronzed name-plaque plastered against the dark wooden door is engraved:
DEAN OF DEMOLITIONS
Rumble gives a half smile, rolling his eyes as a finger runs over the honored title.
'"Dean of Demolitions" my ass...' Rumble thinks to himself, knowing the more intimate side of Ziggs beyond the professional and how childishly mischievous he can be, especially when they're in eachother's presence. His memories harken back to pranks they played as kids in Bandle...
Rumble lets out a despondent sigh and moves on from the office and back to his original destination before he indulges anymore in the nostalgic recollection of their carefree childhoods contrasting their more concentrated lives now.
A sleek metal door slides open with a WHOOSH and Rumble steps inside the elevator going up. It shuts then the box hums lightly and he feels the feeling of his stomach lifting a bit as he's carried upward to the second floor...and then past, soon arriving at the third floor where the smaller, more elite minds carry out important studies beyond classroom learning. The bell dings as it lets him out and into an empty hallway.
Stepping off the elevator, Rumble faces down a long corridor with various more rooms off to the left while the right wall has a series of windows spanning the length to give a beautiful view of the courtyard outside. He remains resolute, leaving the softness incurred from seeing Ziggs' office behind him.
"Step Two: Deceive...check."
He opens the bag once again and retrieves a map, this time a map to the academy. He pulls off to the side near a water fountain to look for a certain room containing a certain...prehistoric specimen with a tantrum problem. His eyes jump between the key and each room, scanning for the most appropriate one he'd suspect his objective to be in.
After a couple minutes in the tense silence, Rumble folds the map back into the bag and finds his way through the crossing corridors, past the numerous rooms, many of which filled with other yordles and humans doing whatever it is they're assigned to do. Soon he comes across the room he's looking for and walks up to the wooden door, venturing a confirming look through the glass slat down one side of the door.
Near the front of the room he immediately sees a large metal cage where sits a little Gnar gnawing at a large animal bone almost twice his size. Around the cage amass a group of white coats with their pens and clip boards furiously scribbling down notes. Some of them with instruments to measure...something. Studying their ancient ancestor with inquisitive interest.
'Now...How to get 'em out...' Rumble wonders when seemingly on queue rings harshly the lunch bell.
'Uh oh...!' He panics quietly, looking around for something to hide in to avoid the oncoming crowd. He spots a mop and bucket left unattended by one of those in the janitorial staff and seizes his chance, quickly tearing the incriminating visitor tag off and grabbing the mop, tag drifting into the mucky cleaning water while his back stays turned.
Not a moment too soon apparently as just then the door he was just staring through, amongst others, creak open to spill out a tide of hungry individuals.
He tries his damnest to blend into the drywall, mop in hand idly sloshing the same spot over and over again while many walk past him, much too concerned with other things than to pay attention to the cloaked janitor with sunglasses on indoors.
Rumble lets out a breath of relief as he hears the last few steps echo down the hallway and away from him. Ditching the mop he turns around to face the now open door and walks inside, shutting it behind him....
Gnar had been moved last week. Usually he would complain about his conditions, but they had given him a large bone to keep him occupied.
How strange. His previous caretakers gave him a whole room to play around in and these individuals seemed to treat him like he was a hunting beast. Perhaps his other caretakers would come back as all these dull people seemed to do was scribble in their papers.
After having gnawed the bone to test its strength, Gnar had determined it was something belonging to a beast similar to pridebeasts from his age. How curious. He hadn't seen any pridebeasts in the wild and he wondered if there were any where he used to live now.
After noticing the examiners leaving, he quit gnawing on the bone and glanced around the room. It was clear, as usu-
Someone was in the room with him? A visitor. He sniffed the air and pulled out his boomerang.
Gnar crawled out of the cage with ease, as it was built for something of much larger size than he was, and sniffed the air closer to the visitor. Getting on all fours he began using his senses to examine the person in the room.
Could it be? The scent of grease stuck in fur, a tinge of rust...
He hadn't had too much time with this particular yordle, but he could recognize him by scent even when in disguise.
"Rable!!" Gnar screeched in delight at his surprise visitor, bounding in front of the his blueish acquaintance and standing with a large, toothy grin.
Rumble turns from the door and surveys the room, looking for any cameras.
'Aha..!' One camera hides itself in the corner of the room just a few feet left from the door, up near the front of the room. The blue yordle grabs a nearby chair and drags it up to the wall. Rumble hops atop the seat and pulls out a can of black spray paint from the pocket of his bag.
It rattles as he shakes it then pops the cap off, stretching up onto his tippy toes and spraying a thick layer of paint against the lens of the surveying camera, thoroughly obscuring its vision.
"Now that that's finished..." He says, capping the paint back up and shoving it into the bag.
"Time for---ACK!" Rumble turns around to step off the stool only to see a Gnar mid-flight going for his head. The smaller yordle grapples onto Rumble as the older yordle topples backward, off the chair in a violent sounding clatter from the momentum of the friendly tackle.
He rolls to the floor and lies in slight to moderate pain from hitting his head but the first thing he sees when his eyes flutter open after the spill is the smiling face of the cave yordle apparently ecstatic to see him as Gnar sits on his chest.
"Agh...Hey Gnar.." Rumble greets, clearly not all that bothered by the overly energetic greeting.
Gnar's excitement at having friends over was clouding his understanding of how rough he might have been, cheerfully sitting atop Rumble's chest.
"Rable makta bota!" he delights, pulling at Rumble's fake beard and stuffing some in his mouth before spitting it out. Disgusting.
Gnar rolls off Rumble and onto the floor, giggling and wondering what his friend was up to.
Gnar examines his play-pal with curiosity before noticing what he had in his hand and quickly frowns and growls.
That container was what those noisy cage handlers used when they stuck him with the pointy thing! They grabbed him and wouldn't let him go until they pricked his arm and squeezed some liquid into him, and Gnar's frustration of being treated like some sort of beast was beginning to surface.
As some of his tail fur stood on end and began to tinge a slight shade of crimson, Gnar angrily slapped the vial out of Rumble's hand and threw his boomerang at it, turning to the blue Yorde with a scowl.
"Vrakta Maga!!!!" He screeched, snorting in disapproval. How could his play pal even THINK about pricking him like those noisy handlers did?
Gnar's violent reaction concerns Rumble, surprised for the little tyke to act out unprovoked.
The syringe meanwhile falls to the floor with a clink followed shortly by a wildly thrown plastic boomerang slapping into it before sliding under the desk. Rumble moves to placate the enraging cave yordle, patting Gnar between the ears.
"It's gone--It's gone..! See? Nada." He states showing empty palms.
Rumble giggles, happy to know Gnar is back to his normal energetic self.
"Hehehaha--Alright--Alright..!" He says with a smile as the little orange cave yordle snuggles against him, babbling nonsensically. Rumble plucks him off his chest and plops Gnar onto the top of the cage.
Bending down, he retrieves the fallen syringe and the plastic boomerang, quickly pocketing the placebo before Gnar would see then stands up and hands over the toy weapon. For a minute, Rumble pauses to consider just what they were doing with the poor lad.
'...That bastard...' He thinks of Heimer, scorning the method they apparently take with their new test subject like he's some monkey. A conclusion is made that they must have been injecting Gnar for the class to see with a placebo concoction of meaningless sugar water to provoke the rage gene transformation. Of course whoever the assigned head of this project must be the only one with knowledge of the formula, so the others view it as merely a humane method necessary to their work rather than what it actually is: Needling Gnar until he goes berserk.
Of course...it's a necessary evil and the whole process in reality is rather harmless, only providing slight discomfort (and maybe a case of Trypanophobia), but it -seems- nefarious and dastardly...!
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