A/N: Thank you for continuing to read this little ditty 3
Content Warning: PTSD response, tension with police
Katya was comforted by the fact that the streets of the Undercity did not seem any less busy as she weaved her way to The Last Drop. Either no one was deterred by the increased Enforcer presence, or no one was aware of what had happened the night before. Or they just didn't care. Perhaps Piltover wasn't going to bother venturing further into the Underground than the Shores and docks. Regardless, the hustle and bustle and brightness of the Undercity persisted.
I see a nation and people full of grit and color. I see a place where people are determined and steadfastly loyal to their Brothers and Sisters. Hardworking, always striving for something better. Because they know they're worthy of it. They're ready for it.
Boots striking the cobblestones with purpose, Katya strode toward The Last Drop when it came into view.
Just as when she first entered the establishment almost a week ago, it was warm, inviting, and boisterous. The mismatched tables scattered across the main floor were packed; a small crowd was gathered round the billiards table whooping, hollering, and cheering on the two people playing; many stools at the bar were occupied by warm, mildly inebriated bodies. A twirl of indigo and a giggle caught her eye and ear, and she turned her head to see Annie setting down a tray of drinks at a table.
Relief washed over Katya's bones to see that she was safe. She shared a laugh with the gruff looking man she had just served, sweetly shoving his shoulder. Turning, Annie's eyes fell on her and they widened, as did her broad, beaming smile. In a flash, she was on the medic, wrapping her thin arms around her back.
"I'm glad you're okay!" Annie sighed, tightening her hold.
Awkwardly, Katya settled her hands lightly on the other woman's waist. "I should be saying that to you – "
"Van told me how you saved Benzo!" Annie whispered, knocking the other woman off balance as the hug tightened further. "You're amazing!"
Katya grimaced against the shoulder pressing into her mouth. She had only done her job. And Benzo probably would've lived without her help. And she really wanted to be done with this conversation. And this hug.
Katya patted the tips of her fingers against Annie's waist, hoping that she would get the hint to release her. She did.
"Are you here to check in on him?"
Katya nodded, and Annie looped their elbows together and guided her to the bar.
"I didn't realize you worked here."
"First night," Annie chirped. "Van sent Cairn to 'Zo's shop to man it while he recovers. I offered to help here. Beats being a fishwife. I'm hoping he hires me on for good," she raised her dark brows and held up her free hand, displaying entwined fingers.
Katya wobbled her head in an understanding fashion, pursing her lips together. Annie was impossibly light on her feet as she skirted them between crowded tables, and Katya felt like she could allow her eyes to meander through the establishment.
The booths tucked into The Last Drop's walls and shadows were full, too, it seemed. Dense with people that wanted the libations the bar provided, but not the company; heads kept low to their drinks and bodies turned in to the private flicker of the tea-candle placed on their tables. Nearer to a staircase that led to the bar's upper floors (storage space, perhaps?), she spied Sevika. She was seated next to a man who was wearing a rumpled Conveyor Car operator uniform. Katya assumed this was her father, based on his build and similar nose, hair and skin color. He was currently dealing hands of cards to the three men in front of him, plus one for himself. Sevika's gaze remained loosely, almost appearing bored, on the booth's candle. But Katya knew better.
While working in the clinic, Sevika had told her that her father would take her with him when he went to play cards. She had taught herself how to count them, and had a knack for sussing out people's tells. It was a gift her father exploited, although Sevika did not fuss about it. The money she helped him 'win' kept food on the table for their large family of eleven.
It had been fleeting, but Katya had seen the painful wish in her friend's eyes when she told her about their scheme. While Sevika had not been shy about bemoaning her father, her heart ached for his approval and validation.
From what Katya could surmise, he was a short-tempered, volatile man whose favorite child – the eldest of his brood, a son – was imprisoned at Stillwater on trumped up trespassing and burglary charges. And he was not unclear in how he felt about the rest of his children, all daughters: He tolerated them. He kept his partner heavy with child after child until she finally bore him another son. It was a short, bloody delivery that had killed her, but at least she had bookended his lineage with male heirs.
The boy had to be at least eight years of age now, and despite not being a working member of the family yet, had taken the mantle as their father's favorite. Never mind Sevika toiling in the mines and making his gambling fruitful, never mind his other daughters working in the mines, cleaning homes in the Promenade, or working in the Undercity's brothels. Never mind the notion that they were all his children.
The young boy carried the weight of his father's unobserved hopes and expectations. And his siblings suffocated under it. It made Katya's own heart clench, and she was grateful that she never questioned her own father's love for her.
Not wanting to distract Sevika from her job, Katya tore her eyes away and instead observed Vander as she and Annie approached the bar. He did not seem as jovial as he had the first time she'd seen him. His eyes were distant, the smiles he gave customers not lifting up to them. His movements were stiff, the fluidity she had seen him move with that first night dried up in the wake of a botched job. His eyes widened as she and Annie arrived at the bar top.
"Fill 'er up!" Annie sang, placing the serving tray down.
Vander placed several large, mismatched mugs on her tray.
"Table seven."
"Right . . . which one is that?"
A weary sigh escaped from the barman's mouth. "The one to the right of the jukebox."
"My right or their right?"
"Jus' . . . whichever table has the same number of people as there are drinks on the tray."
"You got it, bossman!"
With more pep than necessary, Annie whisked back into the crowded bar, the full serving tray held aloft.
"She's . . . enthusiastic," Katya commented after a beat.
"Yeah, she . . ." Vander broke off, rubbing his fingers against his forehead. He glanced around the bar at his customers. "Anyone need anythin' right now?"
Heads wobbled in the negative and a couple tankards were lifted in thanks, warm smiles glowing across drunken faces. Vander tossed his towel under the bar and nodded his head in the direction of the backrooms. Katya followed quietly, keeping her lips pressed shut until they had left the warm and welcoming atmosphere of the bar behind.
"How is he?" she asked once they were in the dimly lit safety of The Drop's living quarters.
"He's been sleepin' most'a the day," Vander replied in a rumbly murmur. "I got 'im situated in the room. I sent Cairn t'work at his shop 'til he's able to move about."
"Annie mentioned." Katya paused nervously before she asked the next question. "What about Beckett?"
"He's fine, too."
"I saw him today. At the docks. He was being questioned by Enforcers – "
Vander turned to face her and planted his hands on her shoulders. He looked down at her with empathetic eyes.
"I know," he whispered. "He already told us. He didn' say anything t'give us away. Topside's riled up but they don' seem t'know what happened." He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. "We're okay, Sister."
A shaky breath blew from Katya's nose and she willed the fearful sting behind her eyes to subside. Vander released her and led her to a small room off the main hallway. It was dark and he reached past her to turn on the chem-lamp, making the room glow and flicker with orangey-yellow light.
Benzo was set up on a small twin bed. His upper body bolstered by many pillows and his injured leg awkwardly elevated with even more. He groaned quietly and his bleary eyes squinted against the blooming light. He blinked a few times before his gaze slid into focus and was able to take the two visitors in. His heavy arm barely lifted from his side as he attempted to greet them.
"Hey," he rasped, voice crackling from exhaustion and the yelling he did the night before.
Katya swiftly stepped to his bedside and placed a hand on his forehead. The fever had worsened since this morning, but she expected that.
"How are you feeling?"
Benzo cleared his throat and said, "Grand."
Katya smirked despite herself and took a seat on the stool at his bedside. She was pleased to see a glass and large pitcher of water on the end table, along with a roll of gauze, a brown bottle of isopropyl alcohol, and a bottle of painkillers.
"We redressed 'im when we got back," Vander said behind her. "Got 'im some food n' water. Gave 'im the meds, just like you said. I've checked in on 'im a few times since then. Been sleepin' mostly."
"He's been a right mother hen," Benzo joked.
"That's good," she said to them both. "I'm going to take a look at your wound, if that's alright."
"Be my guest, Lass."
With practiced skill and careful fingers, Katya unwound the wrappings from Benzo's leg and inspected the injury. Red and inflamed; the skin around the stitches puffy and oozing.
"Can I get a clean damp rag and soap, please, Vander?"
The barman nodded and left the room.
"Have you been scratching at it?" she asked, pouring a glass of water.
"Been tryin' not to," he answered, accepting the drink with wobbly hands. Katya kept her fingers grasping the cup's base as he lifted the lip of it to his mouth.
His gulps were painful and stilted.
"That's good," she repeated. Benzo grimaced and she lowered the cup. He wrestled down the lump of water, and he leaned his head back on the mountain of pillows. "When was the last time you ate?"
"Dunno. Dunno what time it is now even."
Katya nodded her head and set the glass back down on the bedside table. Vander returned with the damp rag and a bar of soap, and she began gently cleaning Benzo's stitches.
"When did he last eat, Vander?"
"'Fore I opened fer the evenin'," he answered, standing behind her. "So, 'bout four hours ago. Some bread n' broth. And a couple o' pain pills. He won' stomach much else."
Katya nodded and set the dirtied rag and soap aside. "That's pretty normal. If your appetite does not return in a couple days, then we will worry."
Vander watched her take up the roll of gauze and brown bottle, mentally taking notes as she ripped a swatch of gauze from the roll and dosed it lightly with the alcohol. The sharp smell of the stuff filled the air and Benzo went green around his wide jaw. Lurching forward, Vander seized the water pitcher and forced the rim between his Brother's lips. Katya squawked as her seat was jostled by the sudden appearance of the barman.
"Drink, mate," he insisted. "An' breathe."
As Benzo carefully gulped, Vander placed a hand on Katya's shoulder to steady her.
"Sorry 'bout that," he sheepishly apologized. "I didn' wan'im spewin' all over you."
"It wouldn't be the first time," she replied, peering over Benzo's bare thigh, "but thank you. This is going to sting."
Katya placed the saturated gauze over the stitching, and the hiss and groan that ripped from Benzo's mouth echoed into the pitcher.
"Fuck that hurts!" he growled, as she gingerly wiped the raised skin and thread.
Tossing the used gauze away, Katya adhered a clean bandage over the wound and then wrapped his thick thigh up with the remaining gauze. Her brows dipped with concern as the end of the roll escaped past her fingers. She tucked it into one of the pleats. Her fingertips brushed through her bangs and settled against her temples, pressing into the thin skin there.
"I will need to figure out a way to get more supplies," she sighed.
She wished Silco had found her before the mine physicals, that way she could've calculated the Children of Zaun into the last order. She wouldn't be able to get away with placing another large order so soon – especially without an impetus. It would raise questions.
But they wouldn't be able to get away with such a meager supply for long.
Katya hadn't felt this particular worrying squeeze round her stomach since her father's death. The nauseating puzzle of figuring out how to make ends meet. Her small dinner churned unpleasantly in her stomach as a warm hand cupped her shoulder.
"We'll figure it out, Lass," came Vander's reassuring voice. "I can put a word out t'the other Brothers n' Sisters. See if they have anything they can spare."
"We could also make do with substitutes, couldn' we?" Benzo offered. "That stuff smells as sharp as the dreck you get from Freljord. Could we use that to clean cuts n' scrapes instead o' the medicine stuff?"
A small, reluctant chuckle huffed out from Katya's throat. They weren't wrong. They could figure it out. It had just been a long time since anyone but her figured problems out . . .
Her fingers twitched at her temple as she thought about resting her hand on top of Vander's. She decided against it and let both her hands drop to her lap.
But she did say, "Yes, that would suffice. It is a good idea. We will still need more supplies, though."
Vander's hand squeezed her shoulder and then he knelt down at her side. "We will get more, Sis. Don' you worry. 'Sides if you could patch 'Zo up with only what was in your home, 'M sure we could craft a whole infirmary with bits n' bobs from the Lanes."
Katya's head nodded absently, distantly. Vander watched her hollow and tired face.
"Katya," he began. Her gold eyes slid over to his earnest, silver ones. "We're gonna be okay. You n' your brother are gonna be okay."
"I've an idea," Benzo slurred. The two looked over to him in interest. "We can't rely on only you t'fix n'bandage. We can' go breakin' down your door e'erytime one of us goes n' gets hurt. What if you taught the other Brothers n' Sisters some o' the basics at least? Make it part o' the meetings. Whattaya think, Van?"
Vander hummed in an affirming note. "Not a bad thought. Perhaps you should get hurt more often, 'Zo. You've never had such a good idea 'til now."
"Oh, fuck you."
"What d'ya think, Sis?" Vander asked, ignoring Benzo and turning to Katya. "Think you could teach us Sumprats somethin'?"
Katya gnawed the inside of her cheek. Eventually, she nodded.
"Yes, I suppose I could do that."
"Sev could help ya," Benzo added cheerfully. "Just like ol' times, yeah?"
Another, more purposeful, chuckle tumbled out of her. Strangely enough, she felt lighter; her stomach and the worry around it soothed.
After a few more minutes, Benzo drifted back into an uncomfortable sleep and Katya and Vander quietly left the guest room.
"C'mon," Vander murmured, jerking his head toward the door that led to the bar, "let me get'ya sumit to drink."
Katya shook her head.
"No. Thank you, though. I need to get back home."
"Just a quick one," he insisted. "Somethin' t'warm you up and thank ya."
Katya's fingers nervously pulled at the loose thread within the pockets of her coat.
"Okay. Yes, thank you."
"There's a Lass," Vander said brightly, and opened the door for her.
The sudden increase in ambient volume and the shift in light made her wince. She followed the mountain of a man back to the bar, and took up a stool as he wound back to his station behind the heavily lacquered expanse of wood.
"Was Sil right?" he suddenly asked. Katya's spine straightened and her brows took refuge behind the curtain of her bangs. Her face felt suddenly warm, and she slid her coat from her shoulders, letting it bunch and pool between her and the back of the stool.
"About you likin' stronger stuff," Vander clarified, smoothing over her confusion.
"Oh, er – yes," she stumbled. "I like whisky. In tea, if you have it."
Vander grinned. "Aye, I do. Lemon?"
"Yes, please."
Vander set about topping off other patrons and making Katya her drink. Annie appeared with her tray and list of orders. Katya rested her elbows on the countertop and threaded her fingers together tightly. Her gaze drifted over the busy bar. Sevika and her father looked pleased at their table, while the other players looked annoyed and worried, fingertips rubbing the bridges of their noses and temples.
Annie dropped off her order and before she could tend to her next customers, Beckett traipsed through The Drop's door and she squealed high and shrill, her raspy whistle of a voice cutting over the crowd and causing patrons to look up. She cut over to him and flung herself into his arms, mashing her mouth against his. A flurry of chuckles and weak whistles warbled through the crowd, and Katya heard Vander let out an annoyed groan behind her.
"OI! Quit snoggin' an' get back to servin'!"
Chuckles morphed into sympathetic whimpers and moans as the couple giggled and pulled away from one another. Annie clasped Beckett's hand in hers and led him to the bar, setting him up on the stool next to Katya, before presenting her empty tray to Vander. He looked decidedly exasperated with his new waitress, but Annie didn't seem to notice, her smile wide and bright as ever.
"That party over there," she said, jutting her head over to a cluster of tables, "wants another round!"
Vander gave her a grumpy look before loading her tray up and waving her off.
"Usual, Becks?"
Beckett removed the cap he was wearing and ran a rough hand through his flame orange hair. "Please, Van. It's been a long, stupid day." He then turned to Katya and said, "You had a long, stupid night from the sounds of it."
Katya's shoulders tensed at his cavalier-ness, and she resisted the urge to give the young man the same dressing down she had given Vander the night before. Instead, she simply nodded and muttered, "It was not ideal."
Beckett nodded and gratefully accepted the frothy tankard Vander slid across the bar top. A surprisingly pretty and dainty teacup and saucer was placed in front of Katya. She quietly thanked Vander, and pinched the lemon wedge over the steaming tea. The oil from the peel spritzed into the air and slicked the tips of her fingers. The sharp scent of citrus cut through the blanket of heady ale and warmth of dried sweat like a dart. A small, appreciative smile curled her upper lip. She couldn't remember the last time she had had fresh lemon. She used the small spoon nestled into the lip of the saucer to stir the tea, lemon, and whisky together before delicately lifting the cup to her lips.
"Cheers, Sister."
The interruption to her reverie jolted her, and she looked over to Beckett. He was grinning at her and presenting his mug of beer. She tipped the rim of her cup towards his and they gently clinked. He took a hefty swig and she gently nipped at the warm surface of her drink.
It was good. And the company wasn't too bad either, she decided.
"To your likin'?" Vander asked, eying her.
Katya peered at him from over the rim and smiled. She nodded.
"It's very good. Thank you."
He smiled back. Her guard had lessened since their first meeting, and she could see the honesty in his face. It shone through his grey eyes and gleamed off of his straight teeth. It nestled in the lines of his smile and lived in the ruddiness of his cheeks.
His gaze tilted over her head, and his eyes widened and brightened. The honesty shifted into carefully tempered glee.
"Wasn' expectin' to see you tonight."
Katya glanced over her shoulder, and her heart gave a couple firm taps against the base of her throat as Silco sauntered up to the bar. The slim woman she had spied the day before in the Promenade was at his side. Up close, it was much easier to see that she was, indeed, his mother. Like her son, everything about her was slender: her frame, her face, her hands. Katya could only imagine the fits the foremen had put up when she resigned from being a Slipper – her build was ideal for the job.
Her eyes were the same shape and bright teal as her son's, as was the angle of her brow. Her hair was long and straight, jet like Silco's but occasionally glittered with strands of silver. She had a similar mouth and jaw shape, a chin that was just shy of being too weak. But where her features were softened – whether by time or disposition – Silco's were sharp. Besides his nose and height, it was the starkest difference between the two.
Silco slotted himself between Katya and the vacant stool next to her. He glanced down at her, lips and brows tilting in greeting. She returned the look briefly before bringing her attention back to her tea, confused and embarrassed by the pink-warm heat blooming around her ears.
"I wanted to bring you something," came Silco's mother's voice in answer. It was low, despite her petite frame, and smooth save for how it crackled slightly at the end of her sentence. Like a gramophone with a dirty needle. Katya wasn't sure if that was how she sounded, or if it was a result of her sickness.
From her satchel, Enyd pulled out a small loaf of bread wrapped in a tea towel and handed it to Vander. He took it from her, gratitude radiating off of him.
"Thanks, Ms. E," he murmured. He stowed the gift below the counter. "Can I get'cha somethin' t'drink? Sil?"
"I suppose we could take you up on that offer," Enyd agreed happily, perching herself on a stool.
Silently, Silco slid onto the one between her and Katya, being mindful not to jostle the medic or her drink. They exchanged another glance; she was uncertain as to whether or not she should say anything. She opted for another sip of her tea.
"I'll have what she's having," Silco said, gesturing to her. "Smells good."
Vander's thick eyebrows pinched together. "Ye want tea? Since when?"
"He'll join me for a cuppa every now and again," Enyd confirmed.
"You want. . . tea," Vander repeated, the upward lilt of the question giving way to a staggered baffled statement.
"With whisky, but yes," Silco insisted.
Vander's head shook slightly in disbelief, shaggy brown hair sweeping over his eyes. "Same for you, Ms. E?"
"A finger of that spirit from Freljord, if you please."
Vander nodded and went about preparing his two new orders.
"I heard you had a busy night last night," Enyd said when the drinks were placed in front of her and her son.
The statement made Vander stop in his tracks. His wide eyes found Silco's. Katya's shoulders seized and Beckett nearly spat out his drink. Silco, however, seemed unphased.
"The Drop was jammed last night," he reminded. "I had to stay after to help you clean up. Benzo was passed out on the billiard table. Remember? Or was it so harrowing that you've already blocked it out."
Vander blinked and gave a sheepish chuckle. "Oh, yeah. Sorry. Guess I did try n' block it out. It was hellish!"
"Did Benzo make it back home alright?" Enyd asked, gently swiveling the bottom of her rocks glass on the counter. "I tried to visit his shop this morning and it wasn't open."
Vander's eyes briefly flicked over to Silco before saying, "Oh y-yeah. He made it out all right. Not 'til the afternoon, but he managed t'stagger home – "
"I don' 'member seein' any you lot las' night," a sleepy slur interrupted. The cluster of five looked over to the right to see a wizened Trencher hunched over his stein. His cloudy eyes lifted to Vander's. "Wasn' that young kid with the dark skin n' white hair mannin' the bar? I don' 'member it bein' any busier than any other Friday."
Before anyone could answer or correct the drunk interloper, The Drop's doors opened and the chatter and cheeriness that had been filling the bar faded away. The sudden loss of ambience caused the occupants at the bar to swivel in their seats and see why the mood had shifted.
It was readily apparent.
Five Enforcers had entered the bar. Three of them donned the traditional and menacing full-face masks and helmets, their hands a little too eagerly wrapping around the rifles held to their armored chests. The two that had led the small cavalcade inside wore only respirators, which they simultaneously loosened from their jaws and let hang around their necks, the apparatuses hissing and slightly smoking as the filtration system within deactivated.
Katya's mind roared and went blank all at once. Her blood rushed and pushed under her skin and pounded in her ears. Her stomach tumbled to her feet while its contents threatened to ascend into her throat. Her muscles quaked, spasmed, and acted on their own. One moment she was pivoted toward the doors, the next she had spun back to face the bar, her nails clawing at the lacquered surface. She felt one of her boots drop to the floor, but before her body could make to stand and escape, a strong and firm hand wrapped around her upper arm. The sensation of being touched, being held, grounded her back into her body with a jolt.
"Stay," Silco murmured to her, his tone firmly edged in an order. Then, "I got you."
Katya sipped in a small breath at his words and focused on the warmth and solidness of his grip, instead of the fear that threatened to paralyze and implode her all at once.
Behind the bar, Vander's face had gone stony. He brought himself up to his full, imposing height and growled, "Can I help you?"
The male counterpart of the two identifiable Enforcers stepped forward. A large bronze badge gleamed upon his barrel-sized chest.
"I'm Sheriff LeDaird," he said, resonant voice filling the space easily. "This is Captain Grayson," he gestured to the younger woman a couple feet behind him. "I'm looking to see if anyone has any information about an attempted robbery at Piltover's Southside docks last night."
No one said anything. The confrontational silence did not seem to bother LeDaird; he'd worked as an Enforcer long enough to expect it from Undercity citizens. His eyes swept across the full bar, taking in the angry and distrustful faces with practiced coolness. Some older, grizzled individuals he recognized from his long time in the force (and from booking some of them). He was starting to learn some of the younger ones, but most were unfamiliar to him.
His gaze drifted back to the young man behind the bar. It wasn't in his intimidating height or build that made it easy for LeDaird to imagine his visage on a wanted poster. It was the frothing, rabid look in his eyes. Like a hound eying a wolf stalking its flock, trying to decide whether it should attack or protect.
Like a beast barely tethered to its chain.
Decisively, LeDaird took another step forward.
"A small group of about four or five tried to rob a small freighter that was carrying very precious and specific cargo," he began. Behind him, Captain Grayson began to meander through the outskirts of the crowd, her eyes sharp and watchful.
"An officer was assaulted," the Sheriff continued, "and the resulting foot chase led to a brief firefight. We believe one of the perpetrators was shot and wounded."
LeDaird paused, eyes keen to pick out any telltale reaction among the faces in front of him. He only found unyielding hate and suspicion. Except for the young woman at the bar, back partially turned to him, shoulders hunched protectively up to her ears. The young man at her side was leaned in towards her, but his icy eyes and sneer were fixed on the sheriff.
LeDaird flicked his gaze over to Grayson. She caught it, along with the order. Although her unhurried pace through the bar didn't change, the intention in her eyes did.
"We are just looking for information," LeDaird repeated, adding an empathetic twang to his deep voice.
"An' your jus' upsettin' my customers," the barman snarled back. Low, affirmative grumbles vibrated through the crowd.
Grayson meandered past a group that had been playing cards. She glanced at the too-young girl that sat just behind the man that must've been her father. Her lips pulled into a disproving line but kept moving. It wasn't the time for questions beyond what they were already seeking.
"You own this establishment?" LeDaird asked, folding his hands behind his back.
"I do," answered Vander, upper lip curling.
LeDaird couldn't help the derisive sniff the blew through his wide nose. "You seem awfully young to own such a place. How old are you?"
"Dunno," Vander snapped hotly. "Was dropped at Hope House as a babe. Nuns kicked me out after 'bout seven or so years. Worked in the mines fer while, before startin' up here. The old owner left it to me. I got the paperwork if ya wanna see it."
"No, that won't be necessary," LeDaird responded. A low sigh, deflated his chest before he changed tactics. "There is a monetary award to anyone who has information about this crime that leads to arrests of any of the individuals who committed it."
He saw a few of the wary gazes flash with interest and he spurred on.
"Anyone who comes forward will be kept anonymous and protected."
A round of disbelieving 'tsks' hissed through the crowd, as if LeDaird were standing in a pit of vipers. Maybe he was.
Grayson continued her slow but purposeful journey to the bar. Her calculated gaze steady as it swept over the suspicious faces around her. As she neared her target, her stoic demeanor shifted. The gears in her mind whirring and clicking into place to present something softer, for she saw in the young woman the telltale signs of someone on the brink of an emotional or mental break.
Her eyes were wide enough that the whites of them could be seen all the way around her amber irises. Her body was taut as a bow string, and it occasionally vibrated when the tension built too much. Her skin was drained to a sickly white, and as Grayson drew closer, she spied a small puddle underneath the woman's stool.
Her behavior was definitely suspicious but Grayson knew that a softer, kinder approach would be necessary to speak with someone in such a state. Barreling after her would not get any questions answered and likely would stir up some sort of altercation.
The captain brushed past the young man with the bright orange hair she had seen earlier that day at the Undercity's docks (a detail that she noted very carefully) and set a gloved hand gently on the bar next to the young woman's straining one.
"Miss," Grayson hushed, "are you alright?"
The young woman pulled away, but whether if that was her own response or the fact that the young man who sat on her opposite side had jerked her back, Grayson did not know. The sudden commotion - quiet though it was - shattered the precarious peace in The Last Drop.
A number of seated bodies around the main room leapt to their feet. Chairs screeched against the floor and angry voices boiled up. The three masked Enforcers that had remained near The Drop's door assumed more threatening postures and readied their firearms.
Back at the bar, Katya crumpled in on herself, her hands clawing around her ears.
"Stop!" LeDaird boomed over the din. He gestured angrily at his officers, "Stand down! Back in your seats!" he yelled to the room.
The patrons did no such thing, glowering and yelling obscenities at the officers. Vander watched from his spot behind the bar, the wheels in his mind turning furiously. He would love nothing more than to crush and pound these pigs. However, he also did not want to play into a riot; not right here, not right now. His eyes flashed down towards Katya's rigid and trembling form, her words from the night before fighting through the buzzing rage in his veins.
"OI! SI'DOWN!"
He internally winced to see the already frightened woman flinch again, but his boom of a voice had the desired effect: stunned silence fell over The Drop. Customers and Enforcers alike appeared shocked and small. Obediently, the Trenchers that had shot from their seats slowly lowered themselves back into them. Both LeDaird and Grayson seemed to struggle with not reacting to Vander's command of the room.
Squaring her shoulders, Grayson went to readdress the young woman.
"Miss, are you – "
"She doesn't like Enforcers," hissed the young man gripping her arm. Grayson would be loathe to admit that his icy glare prickled and numbed her insides, as if her veins were on the verge of frostbite. "She's had bad experiences with you lot. Can you believe it?" he added with a condescending lilt.
From behind him, she heard an anxious female's voice whisper, "Silco!"
"Nobody wants t'talk," the bar's young owner harshly proclaimed. "If anyone changes their mind, I'm sure they'll find you."
Grayson took a step back, mindful to make it seem like she was the one choosing to move and not because she was intimidated by the ruffian behind the bar. She shot a glance back to LeDaird. The Sheriff's brow set and he grimaced.
"Now, kindly get out of my bar," Vander ground through his teeth.
LeDaird's frown deepened, but he set his shoulders and strode back to the bar's front. Grayson elegantly wove in behind him. Without any further exchanges of words, the Enforcers left The Last Drop.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment on the way out 3
I have quite a few chapters for this story back-logged, so I am hoping to be able to make weekly updates for a bit.
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