NOTES: Young Silco? Young Sevika? Yes, please.

A soft clatter in the kitchen woke Silco. Then the tell-tale muffled coughing. A hand clasped tightly over a mouth so as to not to be heard. He squeezed his eyelids and took a long, sharp breath in and a steady breath out. His exhale cooled the puddle of drool that had collected on his pillow and had seeped under his cheek. He grimaced, sitting up and wiping his mouth with a forearm.

His bedroom was dark but the sounds of the Undercity beating against the window told him the day was already very much started. He swung his long legs to the floor and padded over to the covered window. He gently peeled back the thick cloth tacked there and peered outside, squinting against the hazy glare of the sun through the Grey. The markets below had already unfurled dingy but colorful awnings, sex workers called after people who were heading home after graveyard shifts, Conveyor cars slid noisily up and down their cables, and grubby children shrieked as they ran to and fro between alley ways and levels of the Sump.

A louder, raspier string of coughs pulled Silco's eyes away from his city and to his bedroom door. He reached for the shirt at the foot of his bed, pulled it on and made his way out of his room. He ran his long fingers through his scraggly locks of wavy hair, trying to temper the cowlick at the crown of his head.

Once in the sitting room of the apartment, he paused, eying the several piles of folded fabric and clothes carefully situated on the floor and coffee table. Every conceivable color and texture of garment, from humble drab canvas to frilly cream lace to bedazzled satin jewel tones. A harsh throat clearing from the kitchen drew his attention away from the stacks.

"Mum?"

Silco carefully wove in between his mother's organized work and peered through the kitchen door. Her back was to him, shoulders high to her ears and vibrating with the force of her throat muscles trying to dislodge the irritation gathered there. It was always worst in the mornings. Silco stepped into the kitchen and fetched an empty glass jar from a cabinet and filled it with lukewarm water. She took it, hands shaking. She took sips in fits and starts, eventually draining the glass. The last gulp went down in a phlegmy grumble and she placed the glass in the sink. Her knuckles were stretched white as her hands gripped the sink and she hung her head. Silco rubbed a large circle against her back.

"Thank you," she hoarsely whispered. Finally, she looked up at her son with the eyes he had inherited. "I hope I didn't wake you."

Silco shrugged a shoulder. "I needed to be up anyway. Where's that medicinal tea from the herb woman's stall?"

Enyd's thin face split in an adoring smile and cupped her son's high cheekbones. "Oh, my sweet boy," she ran her slender thumbs over the taut, youthful skin under his eyes. Her smile faltered almost imperceptibly as she said, "in the bag by the kettle."

Silco affectionately squeezed his mother's wrists before moving to gather kettle and small paper bag. "Why don't you go sit at the table. I'll bring the tea and some bread over."

Enyd did as instructed while Silco flitted about the kitchen. In no time at all, a steaming mug of green-colored tea and a chipped plate of bread Enyd had baked earlier in the week was placed on the table. The loaf was small, more crust than anything – which was why she hadn't tried to sell it to her vendors in the marketplace. They only received her best goods and in return she received a hodge-podge of coins, wares, and favors. Silco placed one of the wares on the table next to the bread: a small jar of citrus jam, allegedly from somewhere far beyond the shores of Piltover and the Undercity.

Enyd brought the mug to her nose and sniffed. Tart. Acrid. Pungent enough that she could smell it. Years and years of working in the mines, having her nose and throat clogged by gases and explosive powder, had dampened her ability to smell and taste. Which meant if she could smell the stinging leaves floating in the hot water under her nose, surely Silco could. Her eyes flicked over to her son, who was tearing the burnt end of the loaf off and thinly applying the sunset-colored jam to it. She searched his face for any pinch of displeasure at the scent. She found none, and her chest tightened with adulation.

Enyd took a small sip of tea and her face puckered. "Disgusting."

Silco gave a small huff through the bite of bread and jam in his mouth. "I don't suppose there was any hope of it tasting good, being medicine and all. Does it help?"

His mother took another short sip. "I suppose it does. I feel less winded throughout the day."

"Good." Silco slathered a layer of jam over a hunk of bread that had the most softness to it and pushed it over to her. Enyd took it, thankful for the way the texture of the bread and brightness of the jam dulled astringent after-taste of the tea.

Silco watched his mother passively, his teal eyes traveling between her and the tea. It wasn't actual medicine, but it was currently the best thing available to them. It dulled her symptoms of the blight consuming her respiratory system – an illness she and other miners sometimes developed - but it wasn't clear whether or not it would slow the disease's progress. Curing it was a hope too far. As far as Silco knew even Piltover's doctors, with all their grants, education and technology, hadn't developed a cure. Not that they could be bothered to develop one since it wasn't their people toiling away in the mines.

Silco took a too hard bite on the crust in his mouth and a sharp edge stabbed the roof of his mouth. He muffled a pained exclamation, slapping a hand over his mouth. Enyd looked up from nursing her tea, surprised and concerned.

"Are you alright?"

Silco gave a muffled affirmative and nodded his head. He rolled the crust to one side of his mouth and chewed more carefully before swallowing.

"Fine."

"I suppose it's a good thing its physical time at the mine," Enyd mused. "Have the medical staff take a look at your mouth."

Silco scoffed. It bothered him that she still remembered the mines' schedule. Although, if he allowed his mind to not be colored with bitter emotions, he knew it shouldn't be surprising. She was literally born in the mines, had labored there (in more ways than one) up until five years ago. She couldn't forget the majority of her life so easily. He wished she could, though. They had worked so hard, planned so carefully to get her out of the mines after the first annual physical had diagnosed her with the affliction that was slowly eating her from the inside out. He wanted her to pretend that she had always had these odd, piecemeal jobs – baking bread for marketplace stalls and mending garments for various citizens of the Undercity who could afford such a luxury (mainly Promenade dwellers). He wanted her to forget. To forget all the pain and hardship she endured underground. He only wanted her to know the surface.

"The physicals don't do a damn thing. It's all show so Piltover can feel like they're doing something."

Enyd fixed him with a hard stare, "It's not nothing. People died in those caverns left and right before Bone was finally able to pass regulations that ensured miner's safety and well-being."

Silco knew his mother admired the Undercity councilor. He had never seen such hope wash over her face when the news had spread like wildfire in the underground that one of their own had been accepted to the Piltover Council Chambers. It had been well over fifty years since the last Trencher had been invited into those hallowed halls.

Silco bit back another scoff brimming at the back of his throat. Jarrot Bone was maddeningly passive. Got a seat at the table and did precious little with it. The Undercity was still in squalor. Enforcers still brutalizing them whenever the opportunity arose. Citizens from the Underground couldn't just walk across the Bridge and into the other half of the city.

No. Nothing of value had actually changed since Bone had reluctantly been given his seat by the Council. The only thing he had managed to accomplish was passing meager sanctions and regulations for how workers were treated and compensated in the mines from which he had also come.

Yes. The Piltie owners and operators of the mines were now saddled with the responsibility of providing yearly physicals to the thousands of workers there. At best, these appointments alerted you to a serious problem (like Enyd's had), and would then do nothing about it. At worst, it took hours pay out of your check for having to miss work in order to be told "You're fine. Get back to the mines".

Yes. All workers of the mines were now monetarily compensated. Though not enough to guarantee roofs over heads and full bellies. But technically they were paid, and it was enough for Piltover to lord over them. Even the children who worked in the mines were paid, albeit even more minimally compared to their adult counterparts. Doing away with the use of child labor wasn't a concession the Council was willing to make, citing that there weren't enough adults small enough to fulfill the number of Slippers operations called for. The 'compromise' was paying children and adjusting their work hours to better accommodate their need for rest.

Yes. Once Bone's new oversight was enacted, the abuse of miners by their superiors diminished. Namely because of the paperwork and lackluster 'investigations' would follow an altercation. Piltover couldn't tolerate anything would slow down their insatiable want, so maliciously abusing Undercity workers was no longer a regular occurrence. The Council had added a nasty little foot-note to this particular clause stating that if a worker assaulted a superior, they would be immediately fired. Potentially sent to Stilwater, depending on the severity of the attack. Push come to shove, that wasn't a risk many miners were willing to take because, despite the health hazards and insultingly low wages, the mines still had the most consistent work-offerings and some of best pay in the Undercity.

A rock and a hard place indeed.

Silco knew there was no point in maligning the Councilman in front of his mother. She held an odd, misplaced torch for him, and his cynicism and pragmaticism wasn't going to snuff it out. No. Best to drop it.

"I should get ready to go. Sevika should be by any minute," Silco said as he stood. He took up the bread plate and went back to the kitchen. "You should go up to the Promenade today. Get some fresher air."

"I planned on it. I have some finished garments to drop off." Another sip of tea, another grimace.

"I'm going to The Last Drop after I get off tonight."

Enyd looked back toward the kitchen, her brow crumpling. Tea in hand, she stood as Silco began to slip back towards his bedroom.

"It'll be very late," she said, her mind flurrying with images of Enforcers and their faceless masks, sturdy batons. "Why don't you just come back home for the night?"

"Can't. I told Vander I'd be there."

"Sevika?"

"She'll be there too."

"Silco," Enyd urged, standing in his bedroom doorway.

"Mum, it's fine," he paused in gathering his clothes for the day. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll stay there overnight."

His mother's lips turned into a tight line. "What about Sevika?"

Silco couldn't stop the laugh from bubbling out of him. "Sevika? She'd be more fine than I would be on the other end of an Enforcers baton."

Enyd was not soothed nor amused by that statement. As if on cue, a sturdy set of knocks thumped on the apartment's door. Mother and son's eyes followed the sound.

"Can you let her in, please? I'll only be a minute."

Enyd nodded and shut Silco's bedroom door, before walking down the hall to their home's entrance. Although, it was most certainly Sevika on the other side of the threshold, she peered through the fish eye all the same. Out of habit.

Enyd unlocked the door and opened it. Indeed, the tall and burly fifteen-year-old girl filled the doorframe.

"Mornin' Ms. E," Sevika greeted.

Enyd cleared her throat and replied in kind. "Good morning, Sevika. Come in, won't you? Silco will be out in a moment."

Silco hurried around his bedroom, putting on clothes with a thicker weave to them as they held up better in the dank mines and against the rough rocks. Once dressed, Silco sat on the edge of his bed and pulled his boots on. He paused a moment, pointy elbows resting on pointy knees, before reaching down, turning up a loose floorboard and retrieving the slim wooden box hidden there. He opened it and pulled out the three knives and whet stone stored within. The longest knife was slid into one of his boots; another was fastened to the inside of his pants along his left thigh; and the last he tucked up his sleeve. The whet stone slid into his trouser pocket. Silco stored the empty box back underneath the floor and gave the board a firm tap with his boot for good measure.

He stalked over to his lopsided dresser and grabbed the swatch of cloth bundled on its surface. He tied it loosely around his neck, the folded edge cowling around his collarbones, and the pointed tip covering the top of his chest like a bib. Reluctantly, Silco's eyes turned up to his reflection in the dresser's cracked mirror. His thin lips thinned further as he pulled his mouth into a tight line. He ran his fingers through his lank hair again before pulling the handkerchief around his neck up to test it. The fold sat well just over the ridge of his aquiline nose and the fabric sat snuggly against his cheekbones. The rest of it draped down toward the hollow of his throat, covering his mouth and chin. It was a piss poor substitute for an actual respirator, but since Bone's regulations and standards hadn't managed to be able to accommodate such things, this had to do. It was still better than getting a nose and mouthful of metallic shavings and ore dust.

Silco tugged the handkerchief back down around his neck and left his bedroom.

Sevika sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of breakfast tea (the dainty mug looking ridiculous in her meaty hands). Enyd sat across from her, still nursing the medicinal tea.

"Ready to go?" Silco asked as he returned, fussing with the cuff of his sleeve.

"Good morning to you, too," the teen smarmed, draining her cup and setting it on the table. "Thank you for the tea, Ms. E."

"Of course, dear."

"I'll be back tomorrow, Mum."

Enyd rose from the table and walked over to her son, Sevika brushing past them for the door. She smoothed her hands over Silco's shoulders, fiddling with the leather epaulette on the right side. Her teal eyes looked up into his matching pair, a small smile on her thin mouth.

"Be careful."

"I will be."

"Do not go traipsing around the Lanes. Stay at The Drop."

Silco rolled his eyes. "Yes. Okay."

"Have the medical staff look at the cut in your mouth."

"Mum."

Enyd's lips twitched, conflicted as to whether she was amused by his exasperation or annoyed that he was trying to brush her concerns off.

"Give my best to Vander and Benzo."

"I will."

"I love you."

Silco sighed quietly through his nose. "I love you, too."

"Stop smirking," Silco growled, as he and Sevika walked through the twisted green-lit streets of the Undercity.

"I'm not smirking," she insisted. "I think it's nice. Sweet. But, hey, if you want to trade families, I'm down. My dad is an asshole."

"You've mentioned."

In a few practiced steps and leaps, Silco sprang up onto a gangway arcing over the street he and Sevika were making their way down. She was quick to follow, although a little clunky and heavy in her teenage reflexes. She had had a growth spurt in the last couple of years and was still learning her new height and girth.

"So," she breathed, "I was able to make sure that our physicals were with her."

"I've never met the nurse."

"Yeah, I know. But I worked with Katya for years before they stuck me in the tunnels with the rest of you. Also, she's technically not a nurse –"

"I'm technically not a junior foreman, but those are the responsibilities I'm saddled with anyway," Silco spat. Another insult provided by Piltover: giving workers the responsibility of upper-level jobs without the title, respect, or pay.

"She's not technically a nurse," Sevika pressed on, "but she knows what she's doing with medicine and medical supplies, and she's the one that does the . . . ordering."

Silco hummed at the back of his throat as they clambered to a higher level of the Sump. It had seemed too good to be true when Sevika had told him, Vander and Benzo that the clinic officer she had worked under for years ran a side operation of scalping drug and medical supplies she stole from the mines to Undercity denizens. They knew someone with medical know-how and access to supplies would be necessary for what they were planning – a revolution against Piltover.

Injury was inevitable. It was already happening. While violence in the mines had dropped, Street Enforcers still beat any Sumprat within reach. The number of people that got dragged into the safe house in The Last Drop's basement for patching up was not slowing down. It would only get worse once the revolution started in earnest.

Death was also inevitable. But if Silco, Vander, Benzo, Sevika and the rest of the like-minded individuals they had managed to quietly rally so far were able to have access to medicines and other necessary medical supplies they would hopefully be able to keep their numbers up to stand a chance against their oppressors.

"Will she be agreeable?" Silco asked as the mines came into view on the horizon.

"That, I don't know."

NOTES: Getting excited to pull Silco and Katya's worlds together! Will it go well? Probably not.

Please leave a comment on the way out :)