Be still, my bleeding heart. My family fights and I am left alone with a pen in one hand, my heavy head in the other. Let me write comfort, until my fingers bleed harder than my heart. Til the scratching of pencil against paper, fingers tapping at the keyboard drown out their angered shouts.
My family's arguing, so let me write
...
You could feel the dried tracks of your tears. Still heard them fight despite it being the dead of night. It didn't get like this very often anymore, now that you and your sister were moved out. Holidays were fine, usually. But your father just had to mouth off, and you never knew your older sister to let it go without speaking her mind.
They were very similar in that way but god forbid you ever said that.
It was... more handled than when you were kids. No one raised their voice to full volume, your mother went to go speak with both separately once they had stopped. It just... it hurt.
They were your family. No matter how little your father was there for you as a kid, or how insecure your mother always was, they were family. And it hurt so much to see them hate each other.
How could two people you grew up with, shared the same blood with, loved forever, act so hateful towards one another?
In front of your boyfriend, no less.
Viktor laid dead asleep besides you in your old bed. He wanted to meet your family over break, no matter how you warned him to run for the hills. He was gentle and sweet with them, with you. Regarded your father with more respect than you thought he deserved. Helped your mother cook and set up dinner.
He almost beat your sister at Mario Kart. None of your previous partners had even gotten close. He was blue-shelled each time he got into first place, but he did not fall further than 3rd.
And then your father mouthed off. Your sister's dog got on his nerves, and he said something you've heard before, rarely but you heard it, as a kid.
'Work is better than this house!' He shouted. He was frustrated with the dog, you knew that. It happened all the time. He didn't mean it. Right?
But, damn you, your mind went back to the night before your big performance in second grade. The dog had gotten on his nerves then, but you didn't see that. All you knew was after you asked if he would show up, he said that his hell of work was better than home.
Took you back to the time you were playing Super Smash Bros with your sister in high-school, cheering on that you finally beat her. The dog had bit him. But you didn't see that. All you heard was work was better than home.
Your sister, catching onto your sullen expression and refusing to let him talk to her dog that way, fought back.
You grabbed Viktor out before it got too heated, before you became the 13 year old who wasn't sure if her sister was going to run away or not because of a bad fight with your father. Under the guise of getting dessert, you left the house.
Viktor, bless him, he could always see right through you. Stuck in your seat in the WalMart parking lot, he placed a hand on your knee and told you it was okay to cry. That all families fight, that it was allowed to hurt.
Every wall you set, every moat you dug to keep the tears from spilling onto him collapsed when he said you deserved better.
Gods, Viktor could always see right through you. Bullet proof glass was still glass. And he always saw right through it.
Even now, in the depths of night, as the fight you heard earlier, and every fight before that ran through your head, he could tell you were bothered. Dead asleep or not, his hand lazily reached out behind him to find yours.
Hushing him, telling him he should go back to sleep, you held his hand. His whole body followed, mindful of his leg, Viktor rolled to face you. Golden eyes glazed with sleepiness, he stared at you through heavy brows and dark lashes.
"It's still bothering you?" Accent husk with drowsiness, you would've expected it to sound more angry. Upset, disappointed you still held onto such a negative moment from hours before. That had always been a bad habit of yours, especially when it was about people you cared deeply for.
But no. No judgement, no vemon hid behind bared teeth. Viktor asked out of curiosity - better yet, out of concern. It wasn't much of a question, just confirmation because he was that good.
You still don't understand how you got so lucky.
"Just a bit." You sniffled, wiping your free hand under your nose. You couldn't hide much from him, but maybe he'd let you have your pride and allow you to hide your snot.
"More than a bit," He groaned, shifting to sit besides you against the headboard. You tried to shush him away, but ever the gentleman. "If you're still awake." He ran the hand that wasn't locked with yours through your hair. "Talk with me. I'm your shoulder to lean on,"
"Not when you're half asleep." You felt guilty. The man barely got enough sleep as it is. You should've left the room to wallow.
"Especially then." He murmured, whole body going with him as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "Tell me every thought in your head until they're gone. All of them."
"Do you think my stuffed animals hate me?" Your eyes caught on the old stuffie you had. Your parents kept it on a shelf, to remember you by.
Viktor knew you were stalling, trying to direct the conversation away from what was really bothering you. His skeptical side eye left you feeling exposed. An open book to him, no page left unread.
"M' sure they'll understand." He spoke slow, nose nuzzling your cheek. "Give them time, and explain how you feel, maybe the stuffed animal will even feel the same."
Damn him, even in the state between awake and rest, he knew how to weave life lessons into something unrelated.
"You don't think they hate me? That they don't..." You sighed. "They cant be arguing because of something I did, right?"
Viktor hummed in agreement, the vibrations warm and ticklish against your neck as he kissed your jaw. "I can't think of a reason why it would be your fault."
"I know that. It was the dog, my dad isn't fond of dogs." You grumbled, hand going to straighten out a few tangled knots in his soft chestnut hair. "I just... I don't know. Maybe this is just some deep rooted victim complex."
"If it is, then we can work on it later." He reasoned. "But now, it is hurting you. The pain matters, it exists no matter how it's come to be. Let's talk through it, then we can worry about why exactly, if you feel so inclined."
You sighed. "You're too smart. Even at 4 in the morning." Viktor huffed against your skin. "I just feel like, maybe I could do more? I don't know, they're adults but they're also my family. It hurts me, deeply, to see them so angry with each other. Why can't they understand that they do love each other?"
He nodded against your shoulder, arm falling to your seated hip. "This sounds deeper than an argument over the dog biting the leg of his chair."
You sighed, letting your head fall back and tugged your fingers through his hair fully. It was grounding. He was grounding. More home than the actual house you grew up in, the house you were staying in right now. His scent, so overwhelmingly him. His weight, of his chin on your shoulder, his hand around your torso, leg tangled with yours. His gentle eyes, half lidded as he peered up at you. Waiting, with no expectation, no judgment, just waiting.
It was always deeper than what sparked it. But you had no energy left to speak about it. "I'm... I'm too tired."
Viktor smiled. He tugged you down, harsh and sudden. You had no complaints as you landed on top of him with a whumpf. He only nudged your hip, helping you angle it so it wasn't pressing on his leg. Arms tight and warm around you. His fingers ran up and down your back, his sentences smoothing into long words.
This was home. You loved your older sister. Loved your father and your mother, for everything they have done for you. But nothing was as filling than the love you held for Viktor.
It wasn't an expected love, it was one you grew into. One you chose to love. One that stole your heart but their hands were gentle as they held it. Theif or not, Viktor held your heart with care. Treated it like it was the most special heart in the world. Treated you like the most precious person to ever exist.
He held you close, his muffled heart and slowed breathing lulled you to your own sleep. Nipping at your toes, but Viktor did not let them bite. No, he gently cradled you into sleep, it wasn't left dragging you under or smothering you. No, Viktor held you, laying you in the river of dreams, gentle and careful and smiling with you.
He was all you needed. He was home.
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Silco bedside visits are important.
Book keeper/accountant finds herself on Silcos bad side as the result of a misunderstanding and he almost tortures and kills her. You know how it is, everyone makes mistakes.
Silco/femaleOC slow burn but it uses minimal name references (maybe like two?) so you can live your best life and read it as silco x reader because that’s what we’re here for people.
TW for violence, surgery, blood, alcohol, weapons, indentured service, torture, drug use, drug user family member, paperwork, power imbalance, power dynamics, and hardcore simping. You’ve been warned.
Part 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5
Framed by Betrayal - Part 6
Sevika impatiently swipes her mechanical arm across the metal slab, sending various instruments crashing and jangling to the ground. She helps bear your weight as you hop up to lay on the cold metal table before turning away to dig through some cupboards and drawers behind her.
You lay still, feeling exhausted, only sitting up briefly when Ran returns with a bottle of rum that you assume they’ve pilfered from the bar upstairs. With a pointed nod they encourage you to drink as much as you can, their cool manner strangely comforting. Despite both of them being silent, you appreciate Sevika and Ran helping you so… kindly. Kinder than they had to be under the circumstances.
Resolving to take a deep swig you lift the bottle high and slurp it awkwardly out of the good side of your mouth. Curling into yourself sharply as the alcohol stings the laceration. You half gasp half choke at the shocking, burning intensity of it. Accidentally spitting a small amount out through the hole in your lips where there should not be one. The evaporated fumes of the rum burn your eye where it has spilled down your cheek, strong shit.
As you take another swig Sevika swoops in and holds the bottle up, forcing you to chug a lot more than you would do on your own. Your eyes widen and you reach up one hand to hold the wound closed as you drink the potent liquor, scrunching your eyes closed with the effort.
You cough harshly when she releases you, a small spill of rum splattering your hand and surroundings. Why did it have to be rum you wonder before your head spins and you slump back into a laying position, the back of your skull smacking against the surface gracelessly.
You don’t see Sevika and Ran share a concerned look.
“We don’t have time to wait,… I’ll do it.” Sevika signs to them silently just out of your view.
Ran raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve sewn up worse.” She signs back, annoyed as she pulls the tray she’s put together over to rest by your head. You hear it clink and try to turn to see what she’s got but she gently but firmly pushes your head back to resume facing the ceiling.
“Hold still and close your eyes.” She demands, almost threatens. You obey, the rum starting to bring you some warm, drunken easing of discomfort.
She leans over and you feel the needle press at your skin before pushing through. It is agonising and you grab fistfuls of your jacket to brace yourself, closed eyes wrinkled tightly shut.
“If you don’t relax your face, this will scar like a bitch.” Sevika warns and you do the best you can, as she makes another pass, pulling the thread through with it and tying it off. Your toes curl and every other muscle in your body is stiff as a board with the effort of keeping your face still and not twisted.
You feel a hand on your shoulder and peep open one eye briefly to see Ran, coming to assist, helping hold the wound together as Sevika works.
“Eyes closed.” Sevika growls again, pulling the thread through a little more roughly till you obey.
You do your best to stay still and silent, occasionally whimpering where you can’t help yourself. Tears leak down your cheeks through your closed eyes. If Sevika notices she doesn’t give you a hard time about it. After a few more passes with the stitching, you start feeling darkness creeping in at the bordering of your vision, slowly closing in on you like a warm hug.
“No no no, shit! Ran, hold her head still! Dammit!” is the last thing you hear before you lose consciousness.
~~~
You wake up to a buffet of pain in a variety of flavours. Sharp stinging pain that laces the sliced flesh at the edges, a bone deep ache across your skull and electric nerve zingers shooting sporadically through your swollen jaw. One side of your face is swollen and your mouth is hideously dry, as if it were filled with coarse sand. You almost gag when you catch a whiff of yourself, reeking of spiced rum and dried blood, charming. A headache slowly makes itself known to add to your experience, slinking out from behind your eyes to rest in the foreground, like a cat in the sun.
As your awareness gropes around blindly for a foothold on exactly where the hell you are, you find yourself laying on a nice bed. Sprawled out on top of the blankets, still in your ruined and bloody clothing from last night. Memories of the stitching fade into consciousness and the reality of it leaves you feeling frail, weak and utterly exhausted.
Taking a few, painful deep breaths before sitting up, the room spins and you see stars, blackness rims your vision for a long moment till you slowly adjust to the change in axis.
You’re in a nice, almost ornate little room. The little single bed is plush and the bedding smells crisp and clean. The deep red bed cover has a simple but elegant gold embroidery that catches in the light but feels rough underhand. In the corner of the room a vent pumps in sweet tasting, surprisingly fresh air.
It’s still very small but it’s miles ahead of the musty safe room you’d stayed in previously. You look over to the bedside table and your mouth falls open in shock, which pulls awkwardly at the swollen stitches so you quickly snap it shut it again. There are a few things on the wooden surface but your eyes are fixed on a simple glass vase, full of clean water and a simple, elegant bouquet of cats whiskers flowers.
Before you can consider that intriguing little morsel any further the door handle turns, dragging your attention towards the tall thin man now striding confidently towards you.
You shy away, wiggling underneath the blankets protectively, not recognising him. Behind his scarf and… bandages? He looks terribly scarred, as if he had been in a horrible fire and barely escaped to survive.
“Ah…” he pauses, noticing your unsure discomfort. “I’ve been asked to examine your injuries… may I?”
He gestures, to a stool by the bed. You look cautiously between the stool and him and nod once.
“Thank you, if you can please sit on the edge of the bed here, so that I can assess the sutures” He says, patiently letting you move into place before lifting the chair and placing it beside the bed facing you.
“Now” he says, sitting down slowly, in a way that makes you wonder how his scars must pull as he moves. “Let’s see Sevikas handy work shall we?” He gently lifts your chin, tilting your face towards the window so that the light is better. His brows furrow as his one good eye flicks over your wound.
“Hrmm, she did not do badly at all.” He pauses for a beat. “But do not tell her I said that.” You see the corner of his eyes crinkle and you realise he is making a small joke. You can’t help but crack a small smile back at his endearing effort.
He asked you what happened and you explain how you got the wound, and how Sevika and Ran had stitched it up. He listens patiently nodding.
“The rum seems to have helped disinfect the wound.” He muses, almost as if talking to himself before adding. “I’d like you to apply this three times a day, morning mid and night. It will keep the wound clean, reduce swelling and assists in healing. He hands you a small glass jam jar of lavender coloured salve.
“Unfortunately you may have some crushing injuries to your ribs but there’s nothing I can do for that. You will have to endure, unfortunately, till they heal.”
Nodding you wait patiently for him to continue.
“As for the laceration, if it starts to get worse, come see me at once. It is not a small wound, and any infection would probably need to be cut away. I would not like to see that happen.”
You nod in horrified agreement “Of course.”
He chuckles as he stands. “Fear is very motivating isn’t it.” You’re not sure how to reply to that so you just half smile awkwardly. “Thank you.” You say, trying to favour the less painful side of your mouth.
“You should thank Sevika.” He says as he pulls the door open pausing in the doorway momentarily. “If she had waited for me last night you would probably have bled to death.” With that he closes the door, leaving you alone with yourself in stricken silence.
You look down at the jar and open it, it smells sweet and familiar. You recognise lavender flowers, lemon myrtle and comfrey leaf, but there are some other healing herbs you don’t recognise. You struggle to open the tight lid, cursing men for over tightening every damn thing they can. Once you wrangle it open you dab some over your lips, following the vertical path of sutures up and down. It instantly soothes, a cool tingling numbing sweeps over the area and you sigh in ecstatic relief.
You carefully place the jar on your bedside table, noting the jug of water and glass. You drink three glasses, surprising yourself with how thirsty you are once you start.
Placing the cup back you return your attention to side eye the flowers suspiciously. They are beautiful but… Silco would not have done this would he? It seemed so… out of character. He really doesn’t seem the type but you don’t know anyone else who would bother with such an extravagant gift. Cut flowers in Zaun are almost a sacrilegious luxury. Plants are valued more for their natural air filleting capabilities, healing powers and psycho-active effects before their general beauty and even then they are valued much more alive than cut. It was especially hard to ignore that these are the same flowers you discussed together with him in the garden at the College of Techmaturgy. The ones you had told him were your favourite.
You shake your head, trying to dislodge the messy thought spiral and lean against the table as you get to your feet. You feel weak and tired but you forge on towards the door, curious to see where you are.
Opening the door you peer out and find yourself in a small hallway, it looks familiar-
A door opens and Silco strolls out before freezing when he sees you. He looks you up and down. With self conscious terror you remember that you’re still wearing your dirty, bloody clothes from the previous night and probably look like a bruised and beaten mess.
He steps towards you and reaches out towards the stitched wound before hesitating and retracting his hand, flexing his fingers and slowly curling it into a fist at his side.
“What did Singed say?” He asks simply, your eyes flick back up to him in question before you realise with a pang of distaste that he must have been talking about the man with the burn scars.
“It’s fine” You rasp, and clear your throat.
“He told me to keep it clean and gave me some salve.” You explain hoping the floor would swallow you whole.
Silco nods once and turns his head, his long lean neck flexing as he muses over something.
“Third door on the left is the wash room.” He says and you look down, embarrassed that it’s him to suggest that you bathe. “Take today and tomorrow to regain your strength, I’ll need you again after that.”
You nod and he makes a pained face. It looks like he wants to say more but he doesn’t know how to say it so you wait patiently for him to spit it out. You catch his eye and raise your eyebrows in encouragement but he just frowns and turns away, striding down the hall away from you.
Puzzled you stand there a moment watching where he had been before slowly making your way to the wash room.
~~~
Steam rises as you luxuriate in the hot water of the large footed iron tub. You roll your neck and slip lower into the water so that your nose is just above the water line, inhaling a deep breath through your nose before dipping your head under again. The sound under the water is so comforting, your long hair splays out all around you as you enjoy the simple novelty of being submerged. It stings at your lip but it’s also soothing, soaking away the died and cracked blood.
When your lungs start to burn you resurface, water cascades down your face and hair as you lay back comfortably slipping your arms around the edges beside you.
Schist had stollen two barrels of shimmer from the scientists that night. You wonder over what that means as you laze in the water.
Ramsey had obviously sent her, knowing from his previous position that they had the three barrels of shimmer and very little security. You weren’t even supposed to be there at the time, it was just bad luck that you had run into each other. You reach a hand up and trail it over the raised lumpy stitches absently.
Schist was pretty close with Harker too, they’re probably all working together in some way or another.
Harker…
You frown a bit before it hurts your face, which frustrates you into wanting to scowl but you force your sore lips into a neutral line instead.
You were most disappointed by him. You could deal with people being terrible, but it was so much worse when they pretended to be kind first. You had genuinely liked him, not in a romantic way but platonically, as a friend. You had appreciated and respected him, then he had framed you and very almost gotten you killed. Perhaps it would be better to simply distrust people on principle in future you consider. Dipping a hand to swirl in the water, you create little ripples that slowly widen. Being bitterly disappointed was becoming a tiresome trend in your social experiences despite your best efforts to do right by people.
You consider the other people that you had fired for going off the rails, most of them were friends with both Ramsey and/or Harker. So it made sense that they might be running with their own little crew now.
People addicted to shimmer don’t get themselves fired from a job that provides free shimmer. Not unless they can get it somewhere else. It might be worth making a list of these people. You resolve to do it as soon as possible, motivated by your experience and sincere curiosity.
Smirking with one side of your face, suddenly nostalgic, you remember the detective stories Yrvka had read to you before she had taught you to read. Yrvka and her husband Bryn had run the little cantina bar before you had taken it over, they had paid you to help out and clean up around the place as a kid. They had been almost like second parents, your own parents too busy and too exhausted after long shifts in the suffocating mines.
Bryn lived in the sumps now… famously where the people of Zaun go to lay low. Maybe it was worth dropping in on the old man for a long overdue visit.
If he was even still alive.
The thoughts turned painful and with them you sink back under the water again, trying to clear your mind. This time you stay under for as long as you can hold your breath.
~~~
There was a single knock at your door that roused you from your recovery slumber. The door cracked open and you pulled the covers up over yourself as someone strolled into the room.
It was Silco. You heart froze again, the man honestly terrified you.
He was holding something and you watched as he carefully moved a chair over to the bedside and sat down across from you staring over you at the wall opposite, apparently thinking to himself.
After a long moment you looked up at him and his eyes latched on to yours.
“Ah you’re awake.” He said.
You nod once, the blanket pulled up just over your nose, wishing you had worn any clothing at all to bed and not just passed out completely nude after the bath.
“Is it true that you don’t carry any weapons?” He asks suddenly.
You raise an eyebrow at the strange question.
“I used to.” You concede. “but I haven’t had much need for them… well until very recently.” You add regretfully looking down.
“Hrmmm” the noise is a gentle rumble of thunder in his throat.
You sit up a bit further in the bed, so that the blankets cover your modesty from your neck down.
Your eyes flick over to the flowers and back to him and then you curse yourself for your wandering gaze, hoping he didn’t notice. Looking back up he was thumbing something in his hands. A flash of green caught the candlelight but you couldn’t make out what it was.
“You never know, when you’ll need to defend yourself Amaya, it’s often when we least expect it.” He says and your heart sinks. Is he threatening you?
“It can even be, those we least expect that turn against us.” He whispers.
There’s a beat of silence in that moment that chills your bones. You pull the blanket up again protectively and he turns his eyes back to you. In the dim light his orange eye was lit from within.
“I’d like you to have this.” He says holding what he had been holding out to you.
It was an ornate silver knife, inlaid in the hilt with stunning emeralds.
Your eyes widen and you sit up in awe clutching the sheet to your chest.
You look down at it and then up to him unsurely, you slip your hand out of the covers towards it.
He reaches out with his other hand and takes yours placing the knife into your palm and closing his other hand on top of yours.
“Keep it on your person, always. Will you promise me that?” He says looking deep into your eyes. The icy blue eye seeming less chilling as the warmth of his hand leaches into yours.
“I will” You whisper.
“Say it.” He demands squeezing your hand gently.
“I promise, I’ll keep it on my person.” You say gently, flustered.
His mouth tips up the most minute amount in one corner, you could almost miss it if his face wasn’t so close to yours.
“Good, because I need you.”
You feel blood rush into your face and your mouth parts slightly at those words. Warmth blooms within you and butterflies clang in your chest.
His brows furrow slightly and then his eyes widen in a flash of panic, he quickly pulls his hands away from yours.
“I need you, to do your job.” He adds quickly, face smoothing over again as he regains composure.
“What you do is very important.” He says getting to his feet and turning away.
“So I expect you to defend yourself better in future.”
“Of course, I will.” You say obviously.
“Goodnight.” He says and walks out the door, shutting it behind you.
You flop back in to the bed, staring at the ceiling. Still holding the beautiful blade in one hand.
What the fuck was that?
~~~
You’d slept most of the first day away, probably needed it.
“If she had waited for me last night you would probably have bled to death.“ Singed words sneak into your thoughts. You shy away from the memory of his words.
Regardless, there was no way you would waste your free day. Indentured staff were not permitted days off, or holidays or even afternoons off unless they were severely ill or dying. This was an opportunity that you could not afford to waste, busted face or not.
You applied the soothing purple salve once again, exhaling blissfully as it sunk into your aching wound. Thankfully, someone had provided you with some new clothes, they didn’t fit very well but they were better than nothing. You slipped them on pulled on your boots, flinching at the sensation in your lip as you tilted your head to tie the laces up.
You eye the silver blade on your bedside table suspiciously.
“I need you.”
You sigh, wrapping a cloth around it and slipping it under your pants by your hip before making your way out down the hall.
You’d realised after your bath yesterday that it was the same hallway as Silco’s office. You’d just been too messed up to put it all together.
You walked through the hall and down the stairs, the guards letting you pass without a second glance into the blasting music of the main bar area.
You spot Jinx sitting alone at the bar and know that’s a big red flag for her being in one of her moods. She has her special cup and the newest bar tender Chuck looks understandably terrified as she mumbles to him about something.
You make your way past carefully avoiding that part of the bar limping around the back wall till you find yourself curling around the spiral staircase that leads down to the cellars.
The keg room was empty, it smelled like stale beer and you actually appreciated the smell for once, valuing it as being from a simpler time. You stride over towards the door of your old office, eager to investigate.
You unlatch the door and slip inside, dropping into the chair behind the desk and luxuriating in the security of the tiny cupboard sized office space that had been your refuge.
Everything was just how you left it, despite your knowledge that Silco had been in here, pilfering through your records it seemed he had put everything back in its place. You smiled gently at the consideration as you reached up for the staff file, undoing the little string that held the binder shut. There was a section of the file reserved for those who had been let go, and you flipped through it, slipping the end of the pen into your mouth as your other arm reached for a notepad.
You start the list with Ramsey at the top, drawing a crude little crown next to his name to signify his ranking, followed by Harker then Schist. Compiling the rest from your own memory and those who had been fired was too easy. It’s not long before you’ve added six new names to your list. You sit for a moment and have the strangest urge to make a copy so you follow your gut instinct despite how unusual it seemed and fold it up, slipping it into your bra to stash somewhere safe. You hold the original list up and beam at it proudly for an absurd moment of self congratulation.
Ramsey 👑
Harker
Schist,
Dopp, Mogayne, Vyrillia,
Clypse, Lemm and Kile.
Not bad for a paperwork princess.
A strange clanging noise just outside the office door clips your thoughts short and you find yourself gripping your pen like a tiny blade in a moment of panic. Taking a deep breath you try to calm yourself, probably just someone changing a keg. The thought of Schist crushing you so tightly the air was squeezed from your lungs flashes through your mind and you grip the pen tighter.
No room for mistakes in this business.
You hear more rustling just outside the door so you quickly and quietly put your office back in order and pocket the list before reaching a hand towards the door handle, twisting it so slowly before kicking it open.
“Sur-PRISE!” You see written on the floor in pink scrawl just before the room explodes with bright blue smoke. You cough violently trying to make your way up the spiral staircase back towards the bar but your arm is yanked back roughly.
“Leaving’ so soon? You know, I think it’s about time we had a little talk!” Comes Jinxes husky and terrifying voice through the smoke. She wore a large respirator, and her manic blue eyes skitter over you like a swarm of insects through the murky glass lenses.
“Ugh, let me go Jinx” you growl, trying to shake free but her thin arm was inexplicably strong, holding you easily in place. She terrified you more than anyone else here, because there seemed to be no rhyme or reason behind many of her actions. She was entirely unknowable and insane.
“I can’t breathe” you gasp, tears pouring freely out of your eyes as you gasp for air still feebly pulling away from her.
“Step into my office!” She announces dramatically, opening the door to your office before kicking you into the chair slipping inside and shutting the door behind you both.
Jinx sits on the table in front of you looking down at you, tilting her head to the left as you gasp to catch your breath. You regret that the dagger Silco had given you was in such an awkward and hard to reach place.
“Okay you wanted to talk?” You rasp, trying not to display how entirely pissed off you are currently.
“Silco chewed my head off yesterday cause of you. Ramsey’s meant to be dead blah blah blah” She mimes with her hands as if they are puppets.
“You were meant to kill him?” You ask trying to decipher her insane chattering.
Her eyes narrow on you sharply and you freeze.
“Yeah, I blended him a bit but he must have pulled through” She makes a comical show of being exasperated. ”They’re so hard to kill when they’re big purps you know?” She raises her hands up over her head.
“So here’s the deal what’s-ya-name.” Jinx explains.
“Amaya” you interject dryly.
“I aint asking! Here’s the deal, YOU gotta kill Ramsey now. Since you caused me all this trouble.”
“I what!?” You blanch.
“I usually kill people who make me look bad, but he says he needs you for work stuff and that I’m absolutely not allowed to kill, hurt, explode, terrorise, drug, maim or torture you unless he says otherwise.” Counting each threat out on her fingers.
“Silco is very important to me.” She says looking away suddenly her fist clenching on her forehead.
You stay silent for a beat unsure of what to do or say, the awkwardness and danger of the moment thick in the air.
“Okay, you got a deal.” You say putting your hand out with confidence that you had no idea was possible. Trying to meet crazy with crazy seemed like as good a choice as any.
Jinx grins widely and grips your hand shaking it wildly.
“You kill Ramsey, I get the credit, kapeesh?” Jinx proclaims grinning wildly.
You nod once and she reaches across you to open the tiny office door.
“Nice doin’ business whats’ya’name.” She steps on your lap and shoulder roughly as she climbs over you out the door. You scramble after her once you realise the smoke is filtering back in to the room. Stumbling through the keg room up the stairs till you are left gasping at the top of the spiral staircase in the slightly fresher air of The Last Drop.
After a moment of catching your breath you steel yourself to the task at hand and walk through the bar towards the exit to The Lanes. On your journey through you lift a jacket off a chair as you pass and stroll out of the door praying that nobody else will interfere or threaten you along the way till you feel the cool air and rough cobblestones under you feet.
You pull the stolen jacket around you and stroll into the hustle and bustle of the lively streets stalking through the chattering crowd.
You weave through tides of strange and wonderful people, passing by pleasure parlours, bars, restaurants and shimmer dens till you find yourself in a market street.
“Long time no see” croaks the Baker Yarmin, kneading bread with two of his four arms while the other two packs a small ornate pipe with dried herbs.
“I’m a busy woman, just one today thanks” You smirk dipping your hand into your bra for your meagre coin purse. Grateful that you’d saved some coin from before your indenture.
“I thought you were a dead woman after The Eye took over the Cantina” He says taking a long draw on his pipe as his free hands wrap a loaf of bread with waxed paper.
“You thought wrong.” You say slipping some coins over the counter towards him.
He takes the coins and sniffs handing you a loaf.
“Say hi to Bryn for me.” He says softly before someone pushes you out of the way. You raise a hand up over the crowd in acknowledgement hoping he sees.
You stop by another stall purchasing a few other small items before heading down another bustling street.
Feeling suddenly exhausted, you take a moment to step briefly into a large breathing station. Paying a small fee to enter seemed immediately worth it. Huge air ducts with spinning fans siphoned clean air from topside and brought it down to refresh those within. You inhale deeply through your nose, enjoying some fresher than usual air, sitting down you drink in the view, watching people bustle by. The breathing station was set up like a small bar with tables, chairs and drinks available. Always room for business enterprise in Zaun. You appreciated a peaceful, brief respite before being informed your time was up.
“You have to pay to stay longer.” Said the man gruffly, his large feline ears folding back in a threatening display.
“I’m leaving, I’m leaving” You smile up at him feeling refreshed and in good spirits. He’s disarmed momentarily by your friendliness.
“Good then” he bites out as a last resort turning away back to his station.
The press of the crowd is the perfect hunting ground for pickpockets and you’d already carefully tucked your tiny coinpurse back into the side of your bra. You keep one hand in your jacket pocket pressed firmly against the list as you make your way through.
It’s not long before you reach your destination across town, boarding a hydraulic descender to ride lower into the fissure city you stand patiently waiting for the crowd to fill the space. Just before the gates could slide across to shut which would signal the descent a late passenger joins the ride, squeezing onto the platform before the gate is pulled shut. The latecomer stands beside you so close that you sidestep and shoot a glare up at them so they can see your obvious displeasure.
You peer up at Ran, who's eyes twinkle with delight at your recognition, confusion and then anger.
You sign to them “Following” Your hand jive is terrible but You’re sure they understand your question.
Ran points down and nods once. As if to say, Yeah, I am if you’re going down there. The elevator vibrates with heavy ticking gears as it descends.
You sigh, Ran is not wrong. The Sump level is famously dangerous, even for locals. With the rise of shimmer it had become a sprawling shanty town of the desperate and dying, the forgotten folk.
You used to visit every few weeks, visiting Bryn, the short little man who had hired you off the street and who’s wife had taught you about money and book keeping. Without them you would have no education, no edge. Probably be a miner like your parents or a pleasure worker like many others. Not that there’s any shame in that, but those are just some of the few choices for unskilled, uneducated young labourers in Zaun.
You blink back into the present, ripped away from your thoughts as you step out onto the bare rock and soil ground, people shuffle past, most wearing thick mining denim dyed dark with soot and dust. The air here is harsh and stagnant, you scrunch your nose and forge ahead. Ran follows silently beside you, impassive as always. Some people seem to recognise them and shrink away. You try to ignore it, as well as you try to forget the state of your own face, swollen on one side and full of stitches. Maybe you should have grabbed a respirator, if not just to hide behind it.
You make your way to the last place Bryn had been squatting. A small lean-to of corrugated iron sheeting and other discarded scrap.
You tap on the tin beside the entrance, a small grubby curtain hung across the opening. “Bryn?” You call, unsure if he would answer, unsure if he was even still alive.
You hear wretched coughing from within and a small disheveled man slips out through the curtain.
“Oh, it’s you my girl” He says, eyes going wide with recognition. Purple veins web across his too thin arms. You try not to let the pathetic sight of him hurt you. “What have you done to your face?” He asks stepping closer to you.
“I brought you some food.” You say, shrugging off his question, annoyed at the implication you had cut your own face wide open. In the way that only family can instantly annoy.
You place the fresh loaf of bread, a gourd flask of clean water and two tins of corned beef down on a shelf built in to the front of his hutch. He looks at them and then back up at you. “Thank you.” He says but his voice is distant, as if he’s just going through the motions of saying what he thinks he has to say. You’re both silent for a moment before he speaks again.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you… I thought you had finally stopped coming.” He sits down on a crate and you join him, sitting on the hard ground.
Ran hangs back, waiting from a polite distance.
“I’m sorry it’s been a while…” You say, meaning it. “Yarmin said to say hello.”
“That crusty old baker still baking?” He laughs, his weary face wrinkling with smile lines. Yarmin had been a regular at the Cantina way back when.
“How is my little bar going?” He says reaching for the bread and breaking off some of the crust.
“It’s going well” you lie with a smile, not willing to get into the truth of that right now.
“Good, good” he smiles sadly taking another bite.
“Bryn… I need you to tell me if you know anything about these people.” You say, pulling the list out of your pocket.
He turns a suspicious look on you.
“You in some kind of trouble?” He asks.
“It’s important.” You insist.
You read him the names and he gazes off into the distance.
“Yeah… I know some of them.” His brows furrow. “But you don’t want nothin to do with any of them. They’re no good.”
“Can you tell me what you know about them? Please?” You say taking his hand.
He looks into your eyes for a moment, must see the desperation there and sighs again.
“They call themselves the Zauntorrus” The bulls of Zaun.” He snorts at the ridiculousnesses of the name. “They think they can lift Zaun up and rise above the fissures but really they’re just a bunch of sumpers in Silco’s bad books.”
You nod slowly.
“Did they do that to you?” He says, nodding to your face.
You nod again.
“I need to find them.” You say.
Bryn laughs but it quickly degenerates into a wheezing hacking cough.
“My girl, they’re far too much trouble for you.”
“I’ll be in more trouble if I don’t find them Bryn, please.” You squeeze his hand.
“Please.” You insist.
He sighs and pulls his hand away to break off another crust of bread chewing it thoughtfully.
“I can find out for you if you give me some time. Come back in a day or two. I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you Bryn.” You beam at him.
“Be careful my dear. Please look after yourself.”
“You too old man.” You give him a hug. His bony body feels like a wooden chair wrapped in clothing against you and it breaks your heart.
“I’ll see you in a day or two.” You get to your feet.
He nods and raises the water in a grateful salute before you turn away to leave trying to hold yourself together.
Your throat burns as you try not to cry, you cut long determined strides back through the shanty town towards one of the hydraulic ascender platforms.
He looked so much worse than the last time you’d seen him. He’d lost so much weight, you didn’t expect him to look so awful. You should have tried to get down here, to get food to him.
You fight tears away and swallow it all as best you can, mindful of Ran keeping pace beside you.
You stand on the ascender platform impatiently hugging your arms. While waiting for it to fill, just before the gate slides across you almost swear you see Schists wild green hair and black and gold eyes. It’s a split second of recognition before the swarming crowd engulfs her. You turn your watery gaze away, unwilling to see more, already overwhelmed. One hand drops into your pocket though, thumb slowly tracing the comforting shape of dagger underneath.
You see Ran move out the corner of your eye and they are signing to you. Despite the state you’re in, you’re shocked that they are initiating an interaction.
“Dad?” They sign simply.
You shake your head no… then sign back. “Similar” not knowing how else to describe it.
Ran nods once and turns away. You don’t communicate further for the rest of the ride back up to the lanes.
A few rogue tears slip down your cheeks and the salty beads sting as they soak into the stitches.
~~~
You and Ran arrive back at The Last Drop and once back inside the bar you sign “Thank you” to them. Ran bows, deadpan as always and heads off, leaving you to figure out what to do with yourself and you stand there for a moment, feeling totally lost.
A large hand falls on your shoulder ushering you into the bar.
“Where the hell have you been?” Sevika’s familiar voice in your ear.
“I went out.” You mumble glumly as she steers you through the parting crowd and sits you down in a booth with her.
“You’re meant to be resting!” She hisses, snapping her fingers at the waiters without looking away from you.
“You got a death wish? The SUMPS?” She rolls her eyes lighting the cigarette as two drinks are silently delivered in front of you by a beautiful blonde waitress.
“Ran tell you?” You ask glumly taking a sip of your drink, it was damn nice whiskey.
“No, but I’m glad he noticed you try to slip out and followed your dumbass.”
You look up affronted and Sevika laughs at you.
“I have a lot of eyes around town princess.”
“I had to go visit someone. I wouldn’t have had the chance otherwise.” You admit taking another soothing sip, exhaling rich the flavour over your palette.
“I know what you did, took some food to some old sumper and asked some questions.” She eyes you sharply as she takes another draw on her smoke, daring you to lie to her.
“I uh…” You flounder before finding your resolve. “I made a list of people I think might be working with Ramsey and Harker.”
Sevika smirks curiously.
“And you thought you’d just stroll down into the lower levels and investigate it yourself did you?”
You nod sheepishly.
She takes another long drag on her cigarette and blows the smoke out thoughtfully.
“I’m still not sure if you’re a genius, a deranged lunatic or just plain stupid.” She muses.
You chuckle to yourself at that.
“Maybe all three.” You admit with a shrug.
She eyes you thoughtfully before putting her hand out palm up towards you.
You sigh and place the list in her hands.
“What did you find out?” She asks slipping the cigarette into the corner of her mouth before taking the list in both hands to read it through.
You discuss how you’d made the list based on people who had been fired from the bar and what Bryn had told you of the Zauntorros. How he was going to find out more and get back to you in the next day or two.
“Not bad work Princess.” Sevika admits, eyebrows raised.
“Why didn’t you come to me with this sooner?” She asks taking another drink.
You hesitate for a moment unsure yourself.
“I needed to know for myself.” You confess finally.
Sevika just nods, twisting the cigarette over to the other side of her mouth.
“I’ll go down with you tomorrow.” She says in a manner that suggests there’s no discussion on her decision.
“Never pull stupid shit like this again.” She adds her eyes catching the light ominously.
~~~
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