Chapter Text
Somewhere in the distance, someone was playing music, the lilting notes of their song gently floating through the air along with peals of laughter from nearby children. Wind rustled your hair and clothes, bringing the sweet scent of a nearby bakery and its freshly made treats along with it. Your stomach rumbled loudly, as it had been since you’d left the house, a consequence of skipping breakfast.
You had taken a seat on the edge of a bubbling fountain to stare at a map of Piltover with furrowed eyebrows. Your canvas bag rested at your side, still looped around your torso.
Now that you had decided to deliver Silco’s letter instead of running from the problem, you had to figure out the best way to stay under the radar while venturing through the city. You didn’t think it would be too hard considering the area you were delivering to but it would only take one suspicious person seeing you and asking your father what you were doing for it all to come crashing down around you.
You figured the one of the ways to avoid that was to plan your route ahead of time. So, before you had left your house for the day, you had shoved a folded map of the city into your bag. Unfolded, it wasn’t too large, just enough to take up the space on your lap. Tracing the route you were going to take with your finger, you try to memorize the streets you would have to turn down. Left, down two blocks, take a right…
The letter was addressed to a man who lived in Westly Hills, a wealthy neighborhood of respected families close to the Council’s Chamber. But you weren’t too familiar with the individual street names in that area of the city and wanted to spend as little time looking lost as possible. Your goal was to not stick out in anyone’s minds, to just be another unremarkable background character in their day. In order to do that, you needed to know exactly what you were doing at all times. Any hint that you were lost or confused might be enough to have someone look at you closer, or worse, talk to you. And then you ran the risk of being recognized.
You just needed to blend into the background, to pretend you were just set dressing to everyone’s day. Which shouldn’t be too hard- it’s already what you had felt like at every formal event you had attended growing up. It was only when your sister moved out that any real attention was given to you (and even that attention wasn’t necessarily good). After finding out how suffocating it was to be constantly questioned about your future and judged for your talents (or lack thereof), you started to actively avoid it.
So either way, you had experience going unnoticed. You just had to figure out how to do it on purpose.
Tapping your finger on the street you were going to, you worried your bottom lip between your teeth. You were about to pack up when a shadow fell across the map.
“Hey!”
Startled, you sharply look up at the newcomer with wide eyes before you remembered at the last second that you shouldn’t look like you were doing something wrong and instead school your expression into a disinterested frown. That then becomes a genuine frown when you see who has disrupted you.
Standing in front of you is Oliver, one of the people who had tagged along to The Last Drop last night. Though you shared the same friend group, you wouldn’t call him a friend . He was just someone that you knew through mutual acquaintances and you don’t think you’ve ever shared more than small-talk with the man, finding his company more annoying than anything. And he didn’t seem to care too much about you, either. He wasn’t even one of the people who had bothered to wave when you returned to the group last night. Honestly, you’d be surprised if he had even noticed you were gone in the first place.
“Hi.” Your response is delayed but he doesn’t seem to notice.
“How are you doing on this lovely morning?” You easily pick up on the hidden question in his innocuous one. He wanted to know your opinion of your outing last night. But not how you were feeling after everything that had happened, but rather what you thought of the club, of Zaun, and of sneaking around the city after dark.
No matter what you said, he’d just use it as an opportunity to make himself seem cooler or more experienced than you. Which, while factual, wasn’t exactly impressive.
“I’m tired.” You say, looking back down at your map, clearly dismissing him. He either didn’t pick up on it or chose to ignore it, instead sitting next to you on the fountain.
“Yeah, it can be a lot, especially for your first time.” He stretches, loudly groaning as joints in his back pop. Your nose crinkles in disgust. He wasn’t particularly attractive, not to you at least- though you were certain that was an unpopular opinion among your peers. There was just something about the flawlessness of his complexion and the way he looked like he’d never worked a day in his life that put you off. “But once you do it as many times as I have, you get used to it.”
“And how many times is that?” You ask.
“Oh, man, I couldn’t even tell you the number-”
“So it's like… five?”
“No!” You have to hide your smirk at his indignant response that did nothing but confirm your suspicions about him. He was the type of guy who thought that traveling to the Undercity meant he had a personality when in reality he was just a rich kid who enjoyed donning the disguise of a poor person for the night before he returned to his warm bed and purposeless life.
Something ugly twists in your stomach as you realize that you had done that too last night.
“What do you want, Oliver?” You ask, pushing down the disgust you felt at yourself. He doesn’t answer for a second, looking at you down his nose with a smug expression. It warned of nothing pleasant.
“My mother says that you’re getting married soon.” He said it partially like it was a juicy secret that he was now privy to and partially like he was the one breaking the news to you.
“No, I’m not.” You don’t have time to question why his mother knows this and why she told him. He probably didn’t even know why himself, especially considering it wasn’t true. Unless something had changed since your conversation with your parents this morning. Or if your parents had done something you weren’t aware of and then hadn’t even bothered to inform you about before telling their friends. But you trusted your mother enough to at least warn you before announcing your betrothal to the city.
“She seemed pretty sure.”
There’s something snide and condescendingly knowing in his tone that makes you want to punch him, which wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling around him. You push the urge down, swallowing your annoyance before replying. You had to fight to keep your voice even.
“Whatever news you have received is incorrect. I’m not getting married anytime soon, not if I can help it.” You messily fold the map back up, trying not to scowl when it doesn’t quite fold up as neatly as when you first put it in your bag. Huffing and giving up, you shove it into your bag and stand. You almost storm away before you remember to give him a short nod, the barest form of a goodbye you could get away with, though it certainly wasn’t proper.
But you didn’t care about propriety when it came to people like Oliver.
You automatically begin walking towards your house before remembering that you had other business to attend to in the opposite direction. But you couldn’t very well turn around now, not when you could feel Oliver watching you leave. Instead, you turn down the first road you can and begin walking perpendicular to the park you had been sitting in, thankful that the buildings along the road block you from the view of the fountain.
You would have to stop again soon to look back at your map, Ollie’s interruption chasing away the route you had mapped from your memory. But you were hesitant to stop too soon, waiting until you came to a spot that seemed safe from prying eyes and where you wouldn’t be in the way of any pedestrians.
Once you were a few streets away and no longer at risk of Ollie approaching you again, you pulled your now crumpled map back out. While your unexpected detour had taken you further away from your destination, it wasn’t anything too drastic. The walk shouldn’t take you more than an hour if you were smart about it.
After you were certain you knew the route you were taking, you folded the map (which was still not folding correctly) and put it back in your bag before beginning your journey across the city.
If you just ignored why you were doing it, you could easily pretend like you were just taking a casual stroll. But with each step you took in the direction of your destination, the nerves you had squashed this morning returned, building like a weight in your stomach. It was one thing to say you were going to do something potentially dangerous and another thing entirely to actually do it.
As you walk, you keep your head low. Not enough to seem like you’re deliberately not looking at the people passing by, but enough that they wouldn’t really notice you. You try to seem disinterested in your journey, though you aren’t entirely sure you were able to convincingly pull it off. For all you knew, you looked like you were walking to your death.
With every new street you turn down, your nerves mount higher and higher. Sure, this was the most interesting thing you’d ever done (which wasn’t saying much- before this your life hadn’t exactly been bursting with excitement) but every step closer to the address birthed a new worry about how this could all go wrong.
It’s somehow a trick and this will lead to my death. Or, There’ll be Enforcers who will stop me as I approach and know immediately what I’m doing. Or, I have the wrong address and will humiliate myself. Or, The person will see me and ask about the letter, to which I have no response besides the truth-- and I’m not giving them the truth.
Was the tentative excitement you felt earlier at the prospect of living a double life really worth the way your heart was pounding like it wanted to break out of your chest? Was it worth the shaking in your legs and the sweat on your palms? Could you ever get used to this, would delivering illicit letters ever become easy for you?
Finally, you see the street sign for your destination. The final turn until you see the house and have to actually hand the letter over. And you’ll officially be working for Silco, the delivery sealing your fate.
(But a part of you knew that your fate had been sealed as soon as you had accepted the envelope from him and you really couldn’t back out of it now, despite the voice in the back of your head screaming at you to turn around and reconsider your decision.)
You ignore the urge to return home, continuing to walk down the secluded street. There weren’t as many pedestrians on this block as there were closer to the park, though there were still a few milling about. They didn’t spare you a second glance, something you were briefly thankful for as you carefully examined each house as you passed.
Finally you see the three numbers you were looking for on a brick wall that ran along the sidewalk. You peeked over the wall into the small estate as you walked to the front gate, frowning at the sight in front of you.
The small lawn was well trimmed with few weeds, though some of the shrubs along the brick wall and house could use upkeep, branches and stray leaves sticking out of them. Flowerbeds in front of the house had the remnants of withered plants, the dirt dry and lifeless. Along the faded brick walkway to the house were rose bushes, though they weren’t currently in bloom.
The house itself was large and ornate, though it was hard to tell as the stone facade was covered in vines of ivy that crawled over the surface, including a few of the windows. You could see some cracks in the facade, moss growing in the small crevices.
A beautiful estate that has fallen into neglect. Whoever lived here had been struggling lately, it seemed. You knew that this was connected to the letter in some way, though you didn’t care enough to try and find out more. Whatever reason someone got involved with Silco, you didn’t want to know.
Pushing the rusted gate open and wincing as it creaks, you make your way up to the front door. As you walk, you glance behind you to see if anyone has noticed you. But you’re alone and none of the pedestrians on the street are looking your way.
You cautiously step onto the covered stone porch, staring at your reflection in the front door’s windows. Luckily they had curtains on the door, concealing your arrival from anyone who may be inside.
Your hand nervously played with the strap of your bag as you stared forward, unable to bring yourself to flip it open and pull out the letter. Any passing person would immediately be able to tell that you were nervous and trying to build courage within yourself and one more glance backwards proved that you were still undetected.
Well. Shit.
You hadn’t thought this part out yet. Did you knock and meet the man face to face? What if he recognized you and told your father that you had delivered a letter from Silco? Should you have worn a mask, even though that would make you stick out amongst the crowd? Did you just slide the letter through the mail slot and call it a day-- but Silco has said to ensure that his messages were delivered and you couldn’t ensure that the letter would get into the correct hands if you did that. His instructions had been so vague and you had no idea how literally he wanted you to take it.
You were running out of time and could practically feel every second as it slipped by you. Though no one had noticed you yet, you knew that it only became more likely the longer you lingered. You had to make a decision, quick.
Deciding it was best for you to not be seen while delivering the letter, you take a deep breath to steel yourself before you rush forward, sliding the letter through the mail slot in the front door. Before you can even check if someone takes it or looks through the window at you, you spin around and run, knocking over one of the empty pots sitting on the porch in the process. It shatters when it hits the tile walkway with a very loud crash and if the inhabitants weren’t aware of your presence already, they certainly were now.
Cursing, you bolt out of the yard, not even attempting to pull the rusted gate shut behind you as you sprint away, pumping your legs until you reach the end of the block and stop. Putting your hands on your knees, you try to catch your breath as quickly as possible and only succeed in coughing a few times. A passerby asks you if you’re okay, to which you just wave them off.
So much for staying under the radar.
As soon as you catch your breath, you start walking back in the direction of your neighborhood, taking a different route to avoid anyone recognizing you from when you walked this way. Was it an overly complicated way to avoid arousing suspicion? Maybe. But your knees were still weak from the adrenaline that had urged you to run and you didn’t want to ruin it now that you had actually completed your delivery. And as you walk, the lingering nerves start to fade away into pride.
You did it.
You actually did it!
Despite your fears and nerves, you actually went through with it.
As you continued to walk in the direction of your home, you couldn’t help but walk with your chin lifted and a spring in your step. None of the people you passed knew what you had just done, or who you had done it for. It was a delicious secret that you were now able to enjoy. Everyone thought you were just a less accomplished and less likeable version of your sister. Well, now look at what you had accomplished- though you didn’t think they’d find it as impressive as you did.
Not that they’d ever find out about it in the first place.
But you would allow yourself to enjoy the sense of fulfillment you had. You knew that, to anyone else, this wasn’t much of an accomplishment at all. In fact, they may consider it a slight on your character, a disappointment. Firstly, you were doing it to repay a debt and not of your own true volition. Secondly, it was just delivering a letter. Thirdly, it was for a notorious Zaunite crime lord. But you, who had done very little in your life, felt alive for the first time… ever.
To reward yourself, you stop into one of the many bakeries in Piltover and buy a treat. Thanking the server and taking your order, you sit at one of the small tables outside. The pastry was warm and flaky, the cream filling rich and not too sweet. You hummed in enjoyment as you ate your first real food of the day, devouring the pastry faster than you had anticipated.
Then you remembered that you’d have to return to Zaun to speak with Sevika about your next delivery and that puts a slight damper on your excitement, replacing it with a sense of foreboding.
A glance at a nearby clock told you it wasn’t even three in the afternoon. But the idea of trying to venture down to the club today and back before it was dark was too overwhelming for you to think about. You could plan your journey tonight and head out early in the day tomorrow to give yourself ample time to return before nightfall.
Wiping your hands, you throw the packaging away and return to the street. It was too early to return home, as there wasn’t really anything to do there except sit around and wait for dinner.
Spotting the library and remembering what you had told your mother this morning, you turn in its direction. Large columns spanned the front of the building, framing the steps that led to the entrance. The marble glittered in the sunlight, tall windows reflecting the cloud-filled sky back at the city.
You didn’t actually have anything you needed from the library- you hadn’t finished your most recent read yet though you were sure you ever would as it was a slightly dry history of the council that had seemed interesting when you’d picked it up. But you weren’t exactly in the mood to browse for a new read and were only going to the library to give yourself an alibi, should you need it.
Entering, you wave to the librarian at the front desk. She nods, sending you a soft smile of recognition. You come here often enough that your presence wouldn’t raise any red flags.
Wandering far enough into the stacks that you were no longer visible, you ran your hands over the spines of the books before plucking one at random. You meandered through the other stacks, waiting until you felt that enough time had passed to return to the librarian.
“Just this, please.” You had the book over, only now noticing that it was a romance novel. You vaguely recognized the title, probably from one of your friends who had gushed about it, but knew nothing of the plot. The librarian gives you a knowing look before she flips it open, pulling the card out of the back and stamping it. She returns it to you with a sly smile and you accept it with a nod.
Tucking the book into your bag and doubting that you’ll ever actually read it, you push the doors open and step outside. The sun has begun to set, coloring the sky above you brilliant hues of pink and orange.
Later at dinner, when your mother asks you what you ended up doing all day, you shrug and tell her you just wasted time.
The easiest and safest way to get into Zaun was through the trolley. But it was also the only way that was sure to have you questioned by someone who knew your dad. If they didn’t question you, they would surely mention it to him. You could just imagine some low-ranking Enforcer approaching your dad and casually making a comment about you going into the Undercity, thinking he was all too aware of what you were doing.
Or worse, an upper-class lady could spot you and spread rumors about what you were doing. Seeing the daughter of a wealthy family traveling to Zaun would surely be hot gossip and that would be harder to contain than an Enforcer going directly to your father.
So, unless you were absolutely desperate and even though it was incredibly tempting, you would not use the trolley.
You waded through your muddled memory of two nights ago, trying to remember the exact route your friends had taken to get to The Last Drop. But you had been so concerned with keeping up with them, and convinced it would be your only time venturing down, that you hadn’t tried to memorize the route. And you didn’t have any maps of Zaun to look at so you would be basing your route primarily on your shoddy recollection and whatever gut instincts you had (besides the obvious one telling you that you shouldn’t venture into Zaun in the first place).
If worse came to worse, you figured you could ask the friendliest looking person to point you in the direction of the club once you were in the Underground. Even if all they gave you was a vague hand wave towards an area of the city, you’d at least have something to work with.
Pulling your hood over your head, you began your descent into Zaun.
For all your worrying, it wasn’t that difficult. You had left your house early, so there was plenty of sunshine for the first leg of your trip. You knew once you passed into the true Undercity that light would become scarcer but it was better than what it was like at night. You took what was probably a longer route- as you understood it, the faster ways required more climbing or jumping, which you weren’t exactly prepared to do.
You ignored the people who passed by you and they ignored you in return. You had donned a hooded shawl over your usual, practical clothes and were appreciative of the shelter it gave you from any curious eyes. You had brought very little money with you, carrying it in a bag small enough for it and whatever letter Sevika would give to you.
For a moment last night, after you had retired into your bedroom and laid in your bed staring at the ceiling, you had worried that Sevika would request physical proof that you had delivered the first letter as asked. But then you dismissed the idea, hoping that Silco would have mentioned it if he had wanted you to obtain it.
You finally make it to a somewhat familiar area of the Undercity, though you could have been mistaken as many of the streets and their buildings have started to blend together in your memory. But you were fairly sure you were getting close to your destination. You were at least certain that you were on the correct level.
But you didn’t know how to get to The Last Drop from where you stood and cursory glances both ways revealed nothing.
Sighing, you looked around before spotting a middle aged woman leaning against a wall, a short cigarette hanging from her mouth. When you approached, she looked you over with tired eyes.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where The Last-”
The woman doesn’t even let you finish your question before she points to the left, walking away before you could even thank her.
You walk in the direction she pointed, hoping that the club was close enough that you wouldn’t need to ask anyone else for help. But it seemed that you had been closer than you had realized, because you peek down one street and immediately see the cold, beckoning light of The Last Drop around the corner. While you couldn’t see the club yet, you knew it was only a street away. Turning, you walk towards the light.
When the club finally comes into view, you stop to take the time to actually observe the exterior of the club. Though it was the middle of the day, this area of the city was dark enough that the lights of the club created a hazy glow around the building, gold light pouring out of the windows. It would almost seem inviting if it weren’t for the large green lights affixed to the front, creating the crude shape of an eye around the circular logo for the club.
Fitting, for the Eye of Zaun’s club.
Bracing yourself with a deep breath, you approach the club. A sign hanging in the window of the front door declared that the club was closed, but when you pushed on it, the door opened easily. As the club was not open, the ambient lighting was not on. Instead, yellow lights lit the room, allowing you to see the interior of the club better.
But you didn’t have too much time to observe as your attention was caught by the sight of a new jukebox. Where the antique jukebox had once stood was now a practically identical one, though a bit shiner. You wondered if they had really managed to find the same make and model of the one you had destroyed or if Sevika had lied to you when she’d said it was antique. In your mind, both were equally plausible.
“Hey, you can’t be in here-” A voice says from somewhere in the club, clearly talking to you, before another person laughs from the corner of the club, interrupting it.
“No, she’s supposed to be.” The voice was familiar, rough and sounding like she’d rather be doing anything else. Sevika was sitting in the same spot in the corner she had taken last time you’d spoken with her. You approached, gesturing at the seat across from her. She gestures for you to sit, though she doesn’t seem pleased to do it.
“I’m surprised.” Sevika says, not moving to greet you. You don’t bother asking why, knowing it would only open yourself up to her unflattering assessment of your character and you’d already received enough of that your first night here. You wouldn’t be shocked if they had made bets on how long it would take you to deliver the letter or if you would even do it in the first place.
You could imagine Sevika’s bet was that you’d run and never come back. You had no idea how Silco would bet, if he participated in the first place.
“I assume he explained the situation.” It felt weird to speak his name out loud. So you didn’t, instead trusting that Sevika would know through context clues who you were speaking about. It couldn’t be too hard- it wasn’t like you ran in the same social circles and the only person you knew mutually was Silco.
“Uh-huh.” She still doesn’t move. “You know, we get some of you down here in the club every now and then, though they’re typically younger than you.”
“I guess you could say I’m a late bloomer.” You respond flatly. It wasn’t even a lie. Your friends had all started sneaking into the Undercity years ago, before they were even legally allowed to drink in Piltover. And you, like always, had held back, too afraid of your parents finding out to tag along. It was back when you still wanted to be the perfect daughter, before you realized that your sister had already filled that role for you and there was no measuring up to her.
“No shame in that.” Sevika shrugs before leaning forward. “Except when there is.”
You don’t grace that comment with a response.
From under her shawl she pulls out another letter, this one slightly thicker than the first one you had delivered.
“Same deal. Deliver it, then come see me.”
“Will you always have a letter for me when I come down?” You take the letter, looking down at it. It’s going somewhere in a region of the city completely opposite from the last delivery. You flipped it over, examining the red wax seal on the other side. You trace a finger over it curiously. The other letter hadn’t had a seal at all and this one had an interesting shape imprinted in it, though you couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
“Don’t ask me.” You figured it was her brash way of saying she didn’t know. You didn’t exactly like the prospect of making the journey to The Last Drop and finding out that you didn’t have any letters to deliver.
“Who can I ask, then?” Without thinking, your eyes flickered upwards to the ceiling.
“No one.” Sevika’s rough voice brought your attention back to her. “You don’t speak to Silco unless he wants to speak with you. And he won’t.”
“Right.” You slip the letter into your bag, securing it shut. Part of you wanted to linger, to make your long journey down here worthwhile. It seemed a waste to come all the way to the club to only spend ten minutes here. But Sevika doesn’t seem to be in the mood to keep company (you wondered if she ever was), and you had already been told that you weren’t welcome otherwise. “Well. I’ll see you soon, then.”
“Don’t rush,” was all Sevika said in response, already turning her attention back to whatever she had been working on when you’d arrived. You nod, though she can’t see it, before standing, not wanting to overstay your welcome.
As you walk back to the door, no one else speaks to you. Why would they?
Before you exit, though, you turn to look over the empty club. Without any patrons inside and with none of the ambient lights on, it seemed soulless. Chairs sat on top of tables, a mop leaning against one of the walls. The lights hit every scuff and dent in the floor, things that were invisible in the dark. The building was old, much older than the club it seemed. You wondered what it had been like before- had it always been a venue for back alley deals or had it once been a meeting place for the community?
At the last second, as you were halfway turned towards the door, your eyes ventured upwards to the second floor balcony that was inaccessible to patrons. It was just a curious glance up to complete your assessment of the interior but then you saw something that made your heart skip a beat before kicking into high gear, ramming against your chest furiously.
Silco was standing on the second floor balcony, looking down into the main floor of the club with his hands resting on the railing. From the distance you were standing at, you couldn’t tell if he was actually looking your way or if it was just a trick of the light that made it seem as if he was staring right at you. Hesitantly, you raise a hand and give him a single wave before curling your fingers into a disappointed fist when he doesn’t return the greeting.
Instead he turns and walks back to his office, leaving you confused with a half-raised hand and racing heart. You tell yourself that maybe he hadn’t been looking at you and hadn’t even noticed you. But something else in you-- maybe your own wishful thinking, maybe your inflated sense of self-importance-- is positive that he had.
Your second delivery is fairly uneventful. Like your first one, you’d planned your route ahead of time and meandered your way through the city. This house had a mailbox, which would have lessened the nerves of delivering it successfully if you had used it. Instead, you decided it was still best to slip the letter under the door before turning tail and running. But no one noticed you, and you made it back home before the sun even set.
Taking the same route you had before, you were able to return to Sevika within a few days of your delivery. She made an offhand remark about your continued survival that you ignored. She made another, slightly more genuine comment about your good timing, which you accepted.
You didn’t see Silco that time, not even as a shadow through a window.
And while you certainly aren’t an expert, by your third delivery you do start to feel the beginnings of confidence in your new unpaid-job. This letter was going to an apartment near the Academy, allowing you to blend in with the students and young people who lived and worked in that area. No one glanced at you more than once, too busy with their own lives and not well-versed in Piltover’s upper class to recognize anyone but the more notable House members. (And though some of your extended family liked to pretend to be more important, your family was not one of the prominent Houses. Respected, certainly, but no one was going to consider your family a pillar of the community.)
You slipped the letter under the door as you were walking by, quickly making your way down the flight of stairs. Easy.
Sevika never seemed happy to see you, only handing you the next letter with a few disparaging comments. She always had something to give you, but you never asked why Silco was sending so many letters to Piltover. You assumed most of them contained blackmail or extortion within their contents. You were no fool- you knew that many of the people in Piltover were no better than the criminals in Zaun. They just knew how to hide their crimes with money or influence, using the privileges afforded to them to their unfair advantage.
You also knew that despite its reputation in Piltover as being a lowlife infested hellhole, many of the citizens of Zaun were no more criminal than you were.
(Although was it true anymore that you weren’t a criminal? Was delivering letters for a criminal a crime, despite the fact that you never committed the acts yourself? You weren’t sure how to find out without raising suspicion and instead excused yourself by saying you were just repaying your debt.)
But even if you were technically helping him commit these criminal acts, you didn’t want to learn more about anyone than absolutely necessary. And that necessary information was strictly limited to the information on the outside of the letter, names and addresses that you did your best to forget as soon as the letter was delivered.
Despite the fact that it felt like you were constantly running between Zaun and Piltover, you still found yourself with more free-time than you knew what to do with. It had been like this before you’d gone to The Last Drop that fateful night, but now that you’d had a taste of more, you couldn’t stand the boredom. Activities you had used to fill your free time before were now uninteresting. You found yourself craving more of the life you had sampled-- you wanted to learn how to do everything you had ever been warned against. You almost asked Sevika one day for a cigarette before deciding that you didn’t need to expose your inexperience with smoking just to have the satisfaction of rebelling against your parents and their expectations.
But you resisted the temptations. You continued spending time outside of the house, going to your usual haunts and content- for now - with delivering letters and simply longing for more. You had no idea where you would even start if you wanted more adventure.
You had actually started to read the book you’d checked out from the library after your first delivery. It wasn’t particularly well written, but you found yourself curled up on a chair more often than not in the evenings, absorbing every word of the sordid romance. Because that’s what it was- essentially a bodice ripper, although with tasteful cover art that didn’t betray its contents and a vague enough title that unless someone knew what it was, they wouldn’t guess what it was about. You didn’t typically read books of this nature- yet another thing you had been told was improper- and you found yourself enraptured by the passion and unadulterated desire in its contents.
The book described things you had never felt. Things you had never expected to feel in your life as arranged marriages weren’t exactly known for their passion. You had been primed your entire life to enter into a marriage of convenience, your parents treating it like nothing more than a business transaction. Even when they agreed to allow you to find your own husband, they had stipulations about his background.
But as you read about the innocent maiden being taken roughly by the dark and mysterious rogue, your eyes skimming over the somewhat excessive descriptions of their lust, you wondered if you would ever experience anything like that in your lifetime or if you were supposed to be content with a book being the extent of your experience.
When you thought of the men your parents had discussed selling you off to, it seemed like it. You couldn’t imagine wanting any of them the way the maiden desired her rogue. You couldn’t imagine wanting anyone like that, the notion frankly foreign to you. And it wasn’t because you didn’t feel sexual desire. But you couldn’t imagine anyone making you feel the way it was described in the book, with your lust being all-consuming and life-altering.
But you liked to imagine it.
(And if you returned to the library for another book by the same author, that’s your business.)
You left the house early to deliver the fifth letter. The fourth had been as uneventful as the previous and you felt yourself starting to get the hang of journeying down to The Last Drop. So perhaps you were becoming a bit over-confident in your ability to stay under the radar.
You walk along the water, smiling in the gentle breeze. The docks aren’t too busy at this time of day, just a few fishmongers and sailors out doing their daily chores. When you turned down another street, you found yourself almost completely alone, just two men leaning against one of the buildings and talking to one another. None of the businesses lining the street were open yet.
You keep your same pace as before, seeing no reason to rush to your destination. The place you were delivering to was only a few streets down from where you were and you’d already delivered two letters this week. You could take your time.
As you pass the two men, you nod in greeting without stopping. But they stop talking, staring at you. Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of them nudge the other. The hair on the back of your neck prickles and you resist the urge to run back to the docks, back to the sight of other people. Instead, you incrementally increase your pace. Not enough to get away, but enough to hopefully put some distance between you.
But the two men follow you, easily matching your increased pace. You look back at one of them but couldn’t make out too much without turning your head completely. But there was no hiding that you had noticed them following you, just as they didn’t try to hide the fact that they were doing it in the first place.
“Looks like Silco got himself a little delivery girl.” The man on your left jeers, his words bringing your thoughts to a stop.
Your heart dropped, your blood running cold. How did they know?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say, trying to put on the self-important and offended air you’d seen countless times at parties, even though you were terrified that they somehow knew about your affiliation to the Industrialist. “I’m just taking a walk through the city.”
“Does your daddy know what you’re doing?” One of the men said snidely. You don’t recognize the man but he clearly recognized you. Everything you had been worried about your first delivery and had been so careful to avoid was happening. You didn’t know what to do.
“I said, I’m taking a walk.” You grit out, mind racing for a solution to this problem. But you were coming up empty. A large hand wraps around your wrist, pulling your hand away from the strap of your bag. You cry out, more from alarm than from any pain. “Let go of me!”
The man pulls you towards him, spinning you to face him. It’s then that you notice what he holds in his other hand-- a knife, chipped and jagged. You stare at it with wide eyes, watching as he brings it up to poke your chest with it. It doesn’t hurt but there is a threat behind his movement.
“What does he have you delivering?”
He leans over you, eyes raking over your frame before they land on your bag. You take the opportunity his distraction affords you to do the only self-defense trick you had ever been taught: you knee him in the crotch, using his grip on your wrist as leverage and barely avoiding the knife he still held to you. He curses, dropping your arm. You immediately shuffle backwards and are about to run back to the docks when you hear… something . An unfamiliar sound.
A faint ticking noise brought your attention downwards to a crudely made monkey toy, decorated in bright hues of blue and pink. You stare at it for a second before you connect the dots of what it could be and scramble backwards. The men follow suit, recognizing the danger the toy represents. If anything, they seemed more frightened of it than you did.
Then it abruptly clicked, the noise cutting off with a mechanical whirr.
And then your vision goes hazy, an acrid smell filling the street.
All the bomb did was release a cloud of thick smoke and a few shards of metal flew out, hitting your skin. You couldn’t tell if that was the intended purpose or not, too focused on moving somewhere that wasn’t currently full of smoke.
Coughing, you try to wave the smoke away from your eyes but your hand was caught midair by another, thinner hand. If it hadn’t been for your own knowledge of the men’s hands before that confirmed it wasn’t theirs, you would have yanked your own right back. But instead you allowed it to lead you away from the smoke and into an alley, bent over and coughing with eyes watering as your body attempted to fight the smoke in your airways.
Blinking, you looked up at the person who had saved you. A willowy teenager stood a few feet away from you, gangly and slightly awkward in her pale skin. Her hair was tied in two long braids that reached her lower back, strands of it framing her face as she watched you expectantly. Her blue hair, a color so strikingly familiar that you’re surprised you hadn’t realized it as soon as you saw her.
“You!” You point at the girl before coughing again. She points to herself, her eyebrow raised in a question as she looks behind her. As if there was anyone else in the alley you could have been speaking to. Once you clear your throat you clarify. “You’re the girl who was at the club!”
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about all that,” she says as she doesn’t even try to look apologetic. “You’re bleeding, by the way.”
Your eyes follow to where she’s pointing. Sure enough, there’s a large gash on your arm. You stare at the cut and watch as a single drop of blood beads to the surface and pools on your skin. One of the metal pieces that had come off of the bomb in the explosion must have hit you. You’d have to get the cut looked at later to make sure the metal hadn’t contaminated you with anything.
You rummage in your bag for your handkerchief, pulling it out and pressing it to your wound. The edges were embroidered with approximations of flowers, a clumsy display of needlework that you were embarrassed to show to anyone. Especially if they found out that you had completed it only a year ago.
You look back at the girl, who was peering curiously at the handkerchief.
“Thank you for-”
“Don’t bother,” she said, waving you off. She almost seemed uncomfortable with the concept of being thanked. “It didn’t even work the way it was supposed to.”
“Right.” You pull the handkerchief away, peering underneath it at the cut. Without the blood, it didn’t seem too deep. Nothing a bandage and time wouldn’t fix. But you’d have to come up with a story about how you got it in case someone noticed it. People with your lifestyle weren’t typically prone to injury. “Why did you help in the first place?”
You didn’t know the girl. She had no reason to help you out, at least not anything you could think of.
“You gotta deliver that letter, right?”
“I suppose I do.” You shrug before realizing that if she knew about your job, then she had to be more than a kid who was hanging out at an age-inappropriate club. “You know Silco, then.”
“Yup.” She pops the ‘p’, smiling and not elaborating any further. Considering the other workers at the club hadn’t known who you were when you went to meet Sevika for the first time, this was interesting. Who was this girl? Then, as if she can hear your inner monologue, she tilts her head at an almost ninety degree angle, her long hair following the movement. “I’m Jinx, by the way.”
You give her your name in return but you had a sneaking suspicion that she already knows it. Her sage nod after you finish introducing yourself only confirms this.
“Have you been following me for every delivery?”
“No.” She says before giggling. You can’t tell if you believe her or not. You’re certain you would have noticed her if she’d been hanging around. But then again, you hadn't noticed her today.
“Well, I’m glad you were here for this one, then.” You say, blinking once at her before you frown, absorbing what had just happened.
Two men that you didn’t know, knew you were working for Silco. The one man knew who you were, and knew your father. You had no idea what they had planned for you, what they wanted from you. You’d never had a knife held to you before and you certainly didn’t ever want to repeat the experience.
“I could have died.” You say, quietly. At her expression you quickly correct yourself, shifting any blame away from her. After all, she had saved you. “Not because of the bomb. Because of this job .”
The realization of the true danger of working for a man like Silco washes over you. You weren’t just a harmless mediary. You had no idea what you were delivering, what kind of threats or information they contained. Silco had put a target on your back and trusted your naivety to keep you ignorant of it.
You turn to Jinx, who was watching you with a cautious expression like she expected you to suddenly lash out at her. But you speak with measured patience that doesn't betray any of the indignance building in your body.
“Can you take me to him?”
With a sly smile, she nods and, without checking if you were following or even ready to leave, takes off.
Traveling with Jinx was… different.
Unlike your friends, who knew convenient yet understandable paths from Piltover to Zaun, and certainly unlike you, someone who took the stairs wherever she could, Jinx traveled to Zaun with the ease of someone who had been doing it since they could walk. Which means sporadic movements, nonsensical routes, and squeezing through crevices you hadn’t realized would lead anywhere. Oh, and jumping.
You tried to mimic her body movements, adjusting your stances to match hers as she moved. But still, she was much younger than you and had clearly been doing this for a long time.
Despite your hesitation at some of the jumps she expected you to easily land (most of which you did not, which she found hilarious), you were in front of the club within a half-hour, almost a quarter of the time it took you to normally arrive. Though you definitely had more bruises than usual.
Jinx strides into the club, shouting greetings to the empty interior. It’s still early. Sevika isn’t even in the club yet and you got the impression that she practically lived there. You were thankful, though, because she’d probably just keep you from doing what you were doing right now.
You follow the blue-haired girl as she hops up the stairs, her hair bouncing along with her. You tried to remember if you ever had this much energy, even when you were her age.
“He’s in there.” She points at the office before scampering away, down the hallway faster than you could respond. You had half expected her to lead you into the room and you were left wondering if you were really making the smartest decision.
But then you remembered the feeling of the one man’s knife on your chest and his eyes on your body and knock on the door. As soon as you hear a response from inside, you push it open and step inside.
Silco looks up and if he’s surprised to see you standing there he doesn’t show it. He just looks back at whatever he was working on at his desk. You don’t wait for an invitation to speak.
“I need to talk to you about this job.” You spit the word.
You expected him to immediately tell you to just find Sevika and talk to her. But he doesn’t, though he doesn’t exactly welcome you back into his office either. Maybe he knows it's just you and him in the club right now. Well, and Jinx, depending on where she bounced off to.
“Have you delivered the letter to Wilson?” He asks, not looking up at you and not responding to your anger.
“I was stopped by some men while trying to deliver it. Not Enforcers, I can deal with Enforcers. No, these were dangerous men.” You say pointedly. “They held a knife to me and knew exactly what I was doing and who I was doing it for. I could have been seriously hurt. Or killed .”
“Then why come here?”
His question stops you short. Your anger subsides as you realize that you don’t actually know why you came all the way down to The Last Drop. With one single question he has diffused your irritation into confusion.
At the time, your decision to speak to Silco had made complete sense. Jinx hadn’t questioned you or even acted like your request was unusual, so you hadn’t stopped to really think about your decision. Even as you made your way to the club, following Jinx’s blue hair as it whipped around corners and down stairs, you had been too focused on the helplessness you had felt rather than the logic behind visiting Silco.
You were used to ignoring your problems and the role you played in creating them. Instead of blaming yourself for behaving recklessly while trying to deliver the letter, you wanted to push the blame onto Silco. After all, he was the reason you were delivering the letter. But he didn’t tell you to act so boldly or to not bother disguising yourself as you moved around the city. It was your own overconfidence that had landed you in that situation, and it was only a matter of time since that first letter.
Just as it had been your own arrogance that had ended with you pushed into a jukebox.
“This is, what? The fourth letter you’ve delivered for me?” He flips over a page, staring down at it before placing it on his desk.
“Fifth.”
“Why?” He finally looks up at you.
You stare at him, feeling like you missed an essential piece of the conversation. Why was he asking you like it was your choice or even your idea to deliver the letters?
“You asked me to? To repay my debt?”
“If it's so dangerous, why continue? Why not just throw in the towel and go back to your cushy life instead of coming down here to tell me that you didn’t deliver the letter?” He continues after a second when you don’t respond. “You could’ve gone to any Enforcer since I handed you that first letter and had this problem taken care of for you.”
“That just didn't seem very wise, all things considered.” He didn’t need to know your other reasons for not telling an Enforcer. He didn’t need to know that your father was one of them, and would probably lock you in your room until your inevitable wedding if someone even suggested to him that you were spending time in the Lanes.
“All things considered?” He raises his eyebrows.
“You know… Your reputation.” You chose your words carefully even though it seemed like the obvious answer. He examined you for a second.
“Tell me- what is my reputation to someone like you?”
Even though his tone was light, you could sense the danger behind his words. Answer incorrectly and you would pay.
You decide then that being honest to him in this moment was better than trying to lie. But you did keep some of the less flattering things you had heard about him to yourself. Not just because you didn’t think that they were necessary to inform him about, but also because you found that you didn’t quite agree with the notion that he was as monstrously deformed as people often said.
(You didn’t think he was deformed at all. Scarred, yes, because that was a fact. But people in Piltover who had never even seen him described him as if he were a hideous creature when you found that he was simply… a man.)
After taking another moment to collect your thoughts and praying that you were right about him wanting honesty, you carefully begin.
“Well, you’re not exactly known for being nice . Or particularly forgiving.” You tap your fingers together, looking at your feet. “They say that no one crosses you, or at least that no one does it twice.”
When you finish speaking, he raises an eyebrow at you and lets a moment of silence hang between you before he responds.
“Is that all?”
“All that is worth telling you about.” You meet his eyes then, his blue eye narrowed like he knew exactly what you were omitting. But you weren’t going to tell him, to his face, that people Topside thought he was ugly. Especially when, looking at him now, you found that you didn’t agree. But you couldn’t think about that right now, not when you were locked in a staring contest with him.
“And this was all that kept you coming down here for more letters? Fear?”
“Yes,” you lied. He didn’t need to hear about how much you liked the adrenaline pumping through your veins as you left the letters, how your heart raced when you made it back into your bedroom after being in Zaun all day.
He didn’t need to hear about how you spent years learning skills that would only come in handy when you were a wife and how much you resented each second you had spent learning how to embroider or properly pour tea for guests. You were finally learning things no book could teach you and maybe these skills would never come in handy after this chapter of your life was over but it made you feel alive .
And all because you were a glorified mail person.
Silco was observing you like he could tell you were lying to him. But did he know what you were concealing?
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t think I’m frightened?”
“Oh, I do. But I don’t think that’s all.” He stands, crossing from behind his desk. You watch his movements with trepidation. “A frightened person wouldn’t hesitate to turn to an Enforcer -” he sneers the word like it’s dirty, and perhaps it is to him- “and not do the dirty work herself. No, there’s something else here.”
“Does it matter?”
“No.” He leans back against the desk and you feel horribly exposed without it acting as a barrier between you. You have to force yourself to maintain eye contact with him. “But I do like knowing that my workers won’t run off on me.”
“Have I given you any reason to suspect that I would?”
“Besides hailing from Piltover? No.”
You suddenly had the distinct feeling that he was the one lying now.
“Then I would suggest you trust the evidence. I’ve delivered four letters without running away. I still have the fifth.” You looked down at your hands, knowing you should apologize for barging into his office, especially so early. “I’m sorry for coming in here unannounced. I hadn’t fully grasped how dangerous this could be before.”
“You were frightened and yet you came to speak with me.” You suspect he’s still trying to work out whatever secret motivation you had for continuing to work for him when, as he had said, you had plenty of opportunities to run away from it. He speaks almost to himself, curiosity bleeding through his words.
“Well, I blamed you for it.” You shrug. “I mean, without you having me act as your courier, I wouldn’t have been in that situation.”
“And you plan on delivering the fifth letter?”
“Yes,” you speak truthfully.
He observes you for a second, obviously still trying to figure you out. Finally he looks away.
“Is there anything else you needed?” He was dismissing you. You shake your head, turning and walking back to the door. But when you’re about half-way, you turn and look at him.
“Jinx helped me out of that situation today.” You say. “I tried to thank her but she didn’t seem to want to hear it. But I wanted to let you know that I’m grateful.”
"She didn't do it because of me."
“I know.” You shrugged before turning back around. “But I had to give my gratitude to someone.”
He doesn’t say anything else as you leave.
The next day, you donned a hood and headed out into the city in the early morning, telling the butler to inform your parents that you were meeting a friend for breakfast and not to expect you back until later in the evening. It wasn’t unusual for you to skip breakfast at the house, often choosing to get it somewhere in the city so this news wouldn’t raise any suspicion in your parents.
You wanted to deliver the letter early enough to be able to return to the club that day, eager to show that you intended on continuing your work with Silco with few issues. That your unannounced visit yesterday could and should be forgotten about.
You take a more cautious route to your destination today, avoiding the docks entirely. It made your journey longer, but you wanted to avoid any repeats of the altercation from yesterday. Especially when you weren’t sure if Jinx was following you like an explosive teenage guardian angel. You tried to look for her but you had the feeling that, even if she was following you, you would only notice her when she wanted to be noticed.
Thankfully, your delivery was incredibly run-of-the-mill, with no men holding you at knifepoint and none of your peers interrupting you. You’ve finished with enough time to do exactly as you had planned.
You take your usual route down to The Last Drop, though you desperately wish that you remembered the meandering route Jinx had taken you down as it had saved you a lot of time on the descent. You still had to return to your usual way, climbing up endless flights of stairs until you reached Piltover, but you liked how much time Jinx’s way had saved.
Unlike yesterday, the club had people inside which you were thankful for. Sevika was in her usual spot, playing cards with a large tattooed man. You approached, eager to get your next letter and put what you now considered to be a cringy memory of your intrusion into Silco’s office yesterday behind you.
“I don’t know what you did.” Sevika grunts, her cigarette loose in her mouth. She doesn’t even look at you, frowning at her cards. Still, you eye her warily.
“And I don’t know what you mean.”
“He wants to see you.” She says, placing a card on the table. You didn’t know what they were playing but based on the way her opponent reacted, Sevika was winning. “Told me that you were to see him now after you’ve delivered the letters.”
“I-”
“So go see him and stop bothering me.” Her voice is pointed and borderline irritated. You nod, turning on your heel and walking to the stairs, lost in thought.
You were certain that, despite your apologies yesterday, he was going to kill you. That you had overstepped by going into his office without being invited last time and now he was going to make you pay. Why else would he want to speak with you?
Without moving, you stare up the stairway like your feet were made of concrete. It’s only when Sevika yells for you to move that you take a deep breath and finally begin your ascent, each creaking step on the stairs feeling like a step towards doom.
You’re reminded of when you’d first come up these steps that first night in the club, the same sense of dread taking over you. While you had been wrong about his intentions then, you couldn’t help but have the same concerns now. You didn’t know Silco and you had no idea what would draw his ire. Maybe barging in on him yesterday had sealed your fate.
When you step into the hallway, it feels like a wall has been erected between you and the downstairs. No sound from the club reaches you, leaving you in silence. You look back down the stairs, wondering not for the first time if this had all been a mistake. But you were too far in it now, and Sevika would surely try to stop you if you left without speaking to him.
When you reach Silco’s office, you linger at the door, switching your weight between your feet. You knew you had to knock at some point. There was no way around it. But you can’t bring yourself to raise your fist and do it. Instead you stare forward, willing yourself to just do it and get it over with.
“Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to come in?” Silco’s voice calls from behind the door. Your breath catches in your throat before you force yourself to push open the door. He already knows you’re here.
Silco is standing at the window behind his desk, looking outside the green glass over the city. As you move closer, you examine the swirling pattern the window panes create. It was an aesthetic you didn’t see often in Piltover, swirling and elegant yet slightly clunky. Piltover was too obsessed with perfection to allow such deviations.
You found yourself liking it, despite its flaws.
When you come to a stop a few steps away from his desk he turns slightly to look at you. You’re not sure if he can see you through his black eye, but you get the feeling of being observed either way.
He gestures for you to sit down in one of the chairs across from his desk. Silently, you comply, waiting for whatever he is going to say. But he doesn’t sit behind the desk, instead choosing to stay standing and looking down at you.
“You’re back.” While he doesn’t necessarily sound happy, he definitely doesn’t sound pissed. Once again, you’re forced to reexamine your expectations when it comes to him. Both times you had come in here after being summoned, you had expected him to harm you. And both times he hadn’t even come within five feet of you.
But, you ask yourself in an echo of the same question you had asked him yesterday, had he given you any evidence to directly support the belief that he would harm you, or were you basing your expectations for him off of the rumors people spread around Piltover? In the few interactions you had had with him, had he ever treated you with cruelty? The most he had done was meet your blatant disrespect yesterday with coldness, but he had never shown you the merciless crime lord you had heard so much about.
And you prayed he never will.
“I am.”
“You delivered the letter?” He asks.
“Without any issues this time.” Your response causes him to raise his eyebrow at you.
“Have you had issues before yesterday?”
“Nothing as drastic as yesterday. Mainly just running into people I didn’t want to see,” you say, thinking of Oliver’s smug face. Even then, that was only your first delivery. The other ones have been smooth and easy for you. “Sevika said I’m going to come to you now.”
“Yes.” He sits in his chair, placing his elbow on the armrest and leaning into it, resting his chin under his hand. You wait for him to pull out another letter and send you on your way. But he doesn’t.
“Do you have anything for me?”
“Not right now.” He sighs, though he doesn’t seem at all sympathetic when he continues. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come back in a few days.”
You wonder if he does this so you’ll complain. Surely he must know how long it takes to get from Piltover to Zaun. You already know that he thinks you’re a spoiled brat, though he hasn’t said it in those exact words. Now he’s just setting you up to seem even more like one.
“It’s quite the journey.” It's the only thing you can think of to say that doesn’t sound like a whining complaint. Yet he still manages to turn it back around on you.
“Do you have anything else going on in your life?” He narrows his blue eye. The other stays completely open and exposed, staring through your soul. He maintains his somewhat pleasant tone from before, yet you feel like you’re caught on a hook. “From what I’ve gathered, you tend to spend your days wasting time in the city.”
The realization that he has been watching you, even when you were in Piltover, should have been chilling. But you found yourself unable to be surprised by it.
“You’ve spied on me.”
“As I said yesterday, I like knowing that the people who work for me are loyal.”
“And have you found anything interesting?” You can’t imagine he has. You’re about the least interesting person you know, not even including your new acquaintances from Zaun. But the slight tilt of his head and the way his eyes bore into yours sends chills down your spine and you aren’t sure if they are from fear or something else entirely.
“Not yet, little courier , not yet.”
And once again, you get the distinct feeling that he’s lying to you.