A/N: Council visits the mine. Katya visits Benzo's. Bone visits Viktor.

When Bone left Council chambers on Friday, the following week's docket had been rather empty. He knew Rynweaver was attempting to rally a few other of the Academy's lottery donors for an assembly, but that meeting had not been scheduled by the time he crossed the Bridge back to the Promenade that evening.

Bone was looking forward to an easeful weekend and a gentle start to the coming week.

Then there was an attempted robbery at Piltover's Southside docks early in the morning on Saturday.

Then Rynweaver's mine suffered a catastrophic cave-in and landslide in the wee hours of Monday morning, upsetting the very particular and precarious schedule and balance of Piltover's economy.

Of course, there were also several injuries and casualties caused by the disaster. But that was secondary to Piltover's bottom line.

So, by the time Bone had entered his office in the Council Tower mid-morning on Monday, his desk was already flooded with letters and memos about the Council's suddenly full week of assemblies and meetings.

Sheriff LeDaird visited his office Monday afternoon to discuss the robbery at the docks. Bone was not surprised that the Sheriff was saddling the Undercity with the blame, but he did his best to remain diplomatic and helpful as he was peppered with questions about his constituents.

Captain Grayson had accompanied him into Bone's office and sat dutifully silent next to her superior. When LeDaird was done, she asked the Councilman a few thoughtfully worded questions. He was privately pleased at her sensitivity and finesse. So much so that he made a mental note to privately confer with her about the concerning statistics of reported law enforcement abuse in the Undercity.

Tuesday, he, and the other Council members journeyed to the accident site at Rynweaver's mine. Bone had mixed feelings about himself and his peers being guided through the active scene. He always felt a belonging swell of comradery being amongst the hard workers of the Undercity. How his heart thumped with pride at seeing their resilient spirits. How it ached with regret that his own body was now too frail to physically help them in this time of need. Having been a miner present for quite a few cave-ins, wayward explosions, and landslides, he was well aware of the grumbling that took place when Council made their mandatory visit to survey the damage and pay their respects. Having politicians onsite always slowed the rescue and clean-up efforts, and all Trenchers knew that whatever Piltover did on their behalf was primarily for optics.

Bone, his Council peers, and Rynweaver were led to an overlook that surveyed the destruction from on high. A grizzled foreman, who was as wide as he was tall (which was not very) explained to his captive audience how much of the mine had been damaged, what equipment had been lost, and what areas they had managed to excavate in the last twenty-four hours. Rynweaver broke in every now and again to add commentary pertaining to the mine's finances, and what measures were being taken to safeguard Piltover's economy. He succinctly reported how much coin was being allotted to support the ongoing rescue and reconstruction efforts. The newest Councilor, young Silas Hoskel, nodded his head enthusiastically. His brown eyes glimmering and over-waxed goatee quivering with excitement as Rynweaver listed numbers and statistics.

"What of the employees?" Bone interjected. He had waited patiently to see if Rynweaver or the foreman would bring up the topic of casualties and survivors on their own. They hadn't.

The foreman, Janna bless him, did his best not to do a double-take at the Councilor before hurriedly scanning the papers on his clipboard. Rynweaver's expression remained pointy and hatefully neutral.

"The coordinators I've brought in for triage will have that information for you."

"How many employees from Saint Janna's Sanitarium did you have to contract out?" Heimerdinger asked.

"A small team of ten nurses and five physicians."

Bone knew the answer, but asked anyway, "How large is the mine's medical staff otherwise?"

Rynweaver's eyebrows angled downward, his jaw shifting under the weight of his annoyance. "There are two personnel in the medical clinic."

"Two medics? For a mine that employs . . . how many did you say earlier?" Bone asked, turning to the flustered foreman.

"Er – three hundred n' fifty."

"Only two-thirds of that work in the mines," Rynweaver interjected quickly and acidly. "The rest work in our offices in Piltover."

"So, two medical staff for just over two-hundred miners?" Bone questioned, tapping his cane pointedly on the grated metal of the balcony.

"Outside of emergencies such as this, it serves operations well," Rynweaver said.

"Shall we visit the triage?" clanged Councilor Bolbok, before the Undercity Councilor could inquire further.

"I believe we shall," Heimerdinger chimed. "It should help boost the workers' morale to be seen by their Council."

Bone felt he couldn't argue with the six bobbling heads.

The triage space was packed and busy. Beds were full, reserved for those who had lost limbs or consciousness. Miners who were injured, but whole and awake, were strewn about the aisles and propped up against walls. The Councilors dispersed, carefully weaving among the beds and bodies, approaching those who seemed open to receiving their empty condolences and well-wishes.

Bone sat with and held the bandaged hand of a man whose son had not yet been found. He listened and comforted. When the miner's head fell into his free hand, dry sobs bursting through his throat, the aged Councilor spared a glance around the make-shift clinic. Doctors and nurses from Piltover were easy to spot in their pristine and crisp white smocks, their faces stiff and cold as the rock quarried from Rynweaver's mine.

Across the way, he watched a young woman with gold eyes, chestnut hair, and a determined face deftly switch out a patient's IV port and fluid bag. They scrabbled for her wrist before she could walk away, and she knelt at their bedside. Her hard expression shifted into feather-down softness as she whispered comforting things to them.

The moment was short-lived as a Piltover physician swooped in and batted the young medic out of the way. He checked her work, deemed it passable, and then ordered her to gather full bedpans. Bone watched Viktor's sister swallow her rage, her pale skin flushing the color of a vine ripened tomato. Her cheeks hollowed as her teeth ground together and she stalked away, ignoring Heimerdinger's greeting as she passed.

He didn't know if she actually didn't see the short Councilor through the tunnel-vision of her ire, or if she purposedly ignored him. Either way, Bone couldn't help but feel a little smug as the Yordle feigned coolness in the wake of being disregarded.

Katya had taken Enyd's suggestion and went to Benzo's Treasure Trove Tuesday evening after work, bag of trinkets in hand. It had been a long time since she visited any sort of pawn shop; the last time being when she had to sell a great many household items and clothing after her father's murder. The experience and circumstance left her never wanting to venture into such a shop again. That, and she hadn't had any extra coin to spend anyway.

The bell attached to the door didn't so much chime; it mutely clanged as she let herself inside. The store was larger than she anticipated, and it would seem Benzo used its over-sized dimensions to his advantage. The walls were covered in all manner of clocks, sconces, and artwork. Tables of all heights and widths dotted the floor, creating a winding path for customers. The tops of the tables could not be seen beneath the armies of knick-knacks, china, silverware, and globes. Larger items – like grandfather clocks, chests, mannequins – were kept propped against the walls. Katya imagined that the fullness of the store was not only a means to look impressive, but also to force customers to take a good look at everything as they scoured high and low; not only purchasing what they came for, but several intriguing impulse buys.

She would not be swayed by such tactics.

"Hi! Katya, right? The nurse?"

Cairn appeared from a door behind the front counter. He smiled broadly, setting his forearms on the countertop, the presence of his body jostling the flame of a candle that was melting over a skull.

"The medic. But, yes, that's correct," she answered, sidling around displays.

"How's 'Zo doing?"

"I have not seen him since Saturday. I am hoping no news is good news."

She squeezed and fidgeted with the bag strap across her shoulder. The trinkets inside its belly tinkled against one another.

"I'm sure," Cairn said warmly. And after a beat asked, "What can I help you with tonight?"

"I would like to pawn the items in this bag, please," Katya said, lifting her bounty onto the counter.

Cairn opened the bag and began sifting through its contents. Occasionally, he would take a glass ornament out and hold it to the candle light, inspecting.

"You wanna unload everything?"

"Yes, please."

"Trade?"

"Coin."

At that he inspected more thoroughly, carefully touching, and eying each piece in the bag. Katya felt the hair on the back of her neck prickle and her gut coiled. Was he going to try and shaft her? Admittedly, she had no clue what Enyd had given her was worth, but the thought of being taken advantage of made her blood simmer. As the young shopkeeper finished scrutinizing the final baubles, her jaw set and she braced for haggling. Cairn stood to his full height and set his strong and elegant hands on either side of the bag between them.

"How's two-hundred hexes and fifty cogs grab you?"

Katya's voice caught in her throat and she blinked. Surely, she had heard incorrectly.

"Wha – "

"Fine. Three-hundred hexes and not a washer more," Cairn countered, grinning.

Again, she was rendered speechless. That was more than a month's worth of pay from the mines.

"Three – three-hundred – " Katya snapped her jaw shut and shook her head, disbelieving. "H-how . . . ?"

"Benzo does good business," Cairn answered with a feline grin, flashing teeth as white as his coiled hair. "And some Piltie dumbass came in day before last. I overcharged him for what he wanted. Didn't even blink. Sucker."

Katya left Benzo's with the heaviest pockets she'd ever had. Before heading home, she stopped by a textile stand in the market and bought herself two new blankets. She hid the remainder of the amount under the sink in her apartment.

Wednesday, Bone's regularly scheduled lunch with Heimerdinger was cancelled due to the ongoing meetings, business, and damage control the past weekend stirred up. The Undercity Counselor was fine with this development. He had found himself increasingly agitated and painfully aware of his Council peers' utter lack of understanding and empathy for their underground citizens.

Between meetings and work of his own, he left his office in Council Tower to take a walk about on the nearby Academy campus. The chill and wet that had enveloped both cities in the start of the week had been thoroughly eradicated; having been chased out by the sun and clear skies, and comfortably warm, breezy temperatures. Bone limped along, his cane a harsh, muted tap! against the granite walkways that stitched the Academy buildings together.

As he walked, disdain ran rampant under his skin as students passed. It was uncomfortable. Usually, he was better able to curb reactionary thoughts and emotions. It wasn't these young peoples' faults that their ancestors and government had systematically abused over half the citizens of their city-state. However, the Academy students seemed content with remaining willfully ignorant; striding from class to class in their tailored uniforms of expensively spun fabric. Gilded hems and buttons. Books in their arms, but knowing that if their parents paid enough, the Academy would graduate them no matter how abysmal their marks. They were maddeningly privileged, and all too happy to reap those benefits. No matter how it hurt or crushed their poorer brethren.

As he crossly hobbled beneath the shadows of the large, lush trees that peppered the campus, Bone spied the young Undercity boy – Viktor – sitting by himself on a stone bench. His cane was leaned against the carved marble and a crumpled napkin sat at his side; a half-eaten sandwich cradled within. A large textbook lay open, balanced on his knobby knees. He poured over it as if it were the nourishment he needed, and not the food that sat next to him. After a moment, the Councilor staggered over.

"May I sit with you?"

The boy jumped and looked up, his eyes going wider at seeing who was requesting his company. Hurriedly, he scooped up his remaining lunch and shuffled to the side to allow Bone some space. A small smile deepened the lines around the older man's mouth, and he sat down with a sigh.

"Thank you."

"Of course, sir," Viktor murmured, fidgeting with his book and sandwich.

"Here. Let me have the book, so you can finish your lunch."

The boy awkwardly handed the textbook off and put the napkin on his lap, gently unfurling the edges. He flicked an uncertain look over to Bone before lifting the sandwich up to his mouth. Despite not knowing the boy well, the Councilor felt a warmth only kinship could bring bloom under his skin. It drove the disdain out, and for that he was grateful.

The pair sat in silence for a bit; Viktor timidly munching on his lunch, Bone leafing through the large book now on his lap. It was scientific in subject matter, and the boy had dog-eared several pages that seemed to be about robotics and mechanization. The older man smiled.

"Is this for one of Heimerdinger's courses?"

Viktor covered his mouth and nodded. Silence fell between them again, and Bone began to skim pages more earnestly. It was mindboggling to him that a child should understand, much less, read the tiny text and rows and rows of numbers. He himself hadn't fully grasped reading and writing until he was a teenager. In his youth, such a thing was not unusual for the Undercity. Pride in the young Trencher's abilities spread through his veins like sunshine.

Next to him, Viktor finished his sandwich, crumpling up the napkin and stowing it in his bag.

"I can take the book back, if you'd like, sir."

Bone handed it back like it was a treasure. Because it was.

"Are you liking what you're studying under the Dean?" Bone asked.

Viktor paused, surprised, before he answered, "Yes. We will be starting the robotics curriculum soon. I am trying to get a head start."

The Councilor's bushy eyebrows quirked. "Ambitious, I see."

The apples of Viktor's cheeks grew rosy and ripe.

"I like to build things," he responded sheepishly.

"What have you built?"

"I – er – made my cane." His eyes drifted to the creation at his side.

"May I see?" asked the Councilor.

Viktor passed it over and Bone gripped it between his hands, eyes roving over its craftmanship. He hadn't noticed when they first met, but the cane was indeed pieced together in a sturdy, albeit clumsy, way that looked and felt homemade.

"My papa found the wood that is used as the main structure many years ago, and I used metal scraps I had collected to enforce it. I made the handle, too. And have used metal rods to increase its length as I've gotten taller," the boy explained. Bone noticed his voice growing breathy with tempered excitement as he described his process.

"It's a fine cane, Viktor," he congratulated, handing it back.

"I also helped my sister fix our oven a few months ago."

The older man chuckled. "Judging by your cane, in an innovative way I have no doubt."

A giggle stifled at the back of Viktor's throat and he looked at his cane with renewed brightness.

"I believe I saw your sister yesterday," Bone said when the conversation between them lulled. Big, golden eyes looked up at him. "Regretfully, I did not get the opportunity to officially make her acquaintance. She was rather preoccupied helping the injured miners."

"She sent me a tube Monday afternoon," Viktor said. "Telling me what had happened and that she was okay."

Bone heard the worry behind the statement, and said, "She seemed well. Tired. Maybe a bit perturbed, but well."

The boy's young face softened at his words, but too much worry lingered behind his eyes.

Even though Heimerdinger had told him such, Bone asked, "Your sister is your guardian?"

Viktor shifted slightly, hands fidgeting along his cane before answering, "Yes. Our father died a couple of years ago."

"What of your mother?"

His eyes dropped, shoulders slumping in a heavy shrug.

"You and your sister must be very close then."

Viktor nodded solemnly. He chewed the inside of his lower lip before quietly confessing, "I wish she did not have to work so hard to keep me here."

Bone felt his heart and shoulders fall. He placed a comforting hand on the middle of the young one's back. He felt him relax under the contact.

"She shouldn't have to," he agreed. "I have always done my work here with the Undercity in mind. And after touring the mine yesterday, I will be working doubly hard to make sure people like your sister have the resources they need to work and live."

Viktor peeked a glance up at the older man and nodded minutely. Bone set his jaw and leaned closer to him.

"You deserve to be here, Viktor. And your sister – "

"Katya."

"And Katya should not have to work so hard to support you. Both things are true."

The campus' bell tower tolled the time in deep, resonate chimes, pulling the two out of their conversation.

"I should get going to my next class," Viktor said, setting his cane's foot down and making to stand. "Thank you very much for sitting with me, Councilor, sir."

"You may call me Jarrot, Viktor," he said warmly, rising himself. "Trenchers don't stand on ceremony."

He winked and the boy bashfully grinned.

"I would like to have lunch with you again sometime," he continued as Viktor slung his satchel over his shoulder. "Do you usually dine here?"

"Unless it is raining or cold. Then I stay in the cafeteria."

Bone could tell by the tone around the last word that sitting with his peers was not his first choice. He couldn't blame him.

"Excellent. Then I hope to see you soon. Have a good rest of your day, Viktor."

"You as well, Coun – Jarrot," he corrected in an uncomfortable mumble.

He offered the man one last small smile before hobbling off in the direction of his next class. Bone watched him go for a moment, before turning heel and heading back to his office.

When he returned to his chambers in Council Tower, an envelope of luxurious slate paper was waiting for him on his desk. The cardstock was heavy and soft to the touch. Flipping the letter over, he sneered to see the Rynweaver crest embossed onto a thick seal of gold wax. As if receiving any correspondence from the mogul was some sort of award.

Bone settled heavily into his chair, drawing up his letter opener and slicing the parchment and wax with a satisfying flick. The leather of the chair groaned as he leaned against its back, eyes taking in the carefully worded assembly proposal. He shouldn't have been surprised. Regardless, irate disbelief thrummed through his fragile body. The sheer audacity of this man to propose a meeting with Council about the Academy's lottery when hundreds of his employees were hurt or dead. The absolute depravity of his priorities was maddening. And what was worse, was that Council would heed his call.

The assembly was scheduled for later that week.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment on the way out!

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