A/N: PLEASE READ
Hey all.
In light of Act 2's release this past weekend, I just want to say plainly: I am not going to alter my plans for CoZ's plot nor trajectory even though we've now been given (an entirely unsatisfying and nonsensical) reason for Silco and Vander's rift and betrayal. Children of Zaun will carry on non-compliant with the information presented in Arcane's second season. Including switching Annie and Beckett's names to Felicia and Connoll. Annie and Beckett stay.
I'm not going to list the in which I am outrageously disappointed in what 'Blisters and Bedrock' gave us. I've reblogged a few in-depth critiques about why the backstory Arcane's writers laid out just doesn't work on my tumblr blog. My handle is 'kikiiswashere' if you want to check them out.
Before I went into watching Act 2 this past Saturday, I was worried that finding out what the canon reason was for Vander's betrayal was really gonna put a hitch-in-my-giddy-up in writing Children of Zaun. Worried that people wouldn't care any more because we were gonna get the 'real' answer.
But the writer's seriously fumbled, for whatever reason. And while I honestly would've preferred an explanation I would've loved, part of me is happy that myself, and other authors who have written/are writing prequel fics get to do it better, and we have peers who want that.
Anyway, thanks for reading! And thank God for fanfic!
Grayson had been certain that when she received a request for an audience from the Undercity Councilor that it had been a mistake. Yes, she was Captain of Piltover's Enforcers, but such correspondences were typically kept to the Sheriff. When she had informed LeDaird of Bone's call, he had nodded knowingly and told her that it was not a mistake.
"He told me that he would be contacting you," the Sheriff had said, eyes sweeping over the reports and notes officers had made about the robbery from the weekend prior.
"Do you know what about?"
LeDaird shook his head, setting a manila folder down with a sigh.
"I don't. But he's a Councilor – "
"With all due respect, sir, to you and Councilor Bone" she said. And she meant it. "I believe my time and energy would be of better use in solving this dock robbery."
"I agree," LeDaird replied. "But it is difficult to do our job when the Council goes unheeded. Humor him. See what he wants."
Besides the summons itself, its directions seemed equally peculiar. Bone did not invite Grayson to his office. Rather, he requested that she meet him on the Academy grounds and walk with him to that afternoon's Council Assembly.
So, Thursday, Grayson strode onto campus and headed towards their designated meeting point. The quad was mostly empty, students being in class or eating lunch in the cafeteria. The leaves of the lush trees gently rustled overhead, and songbirds occasionally peeped and sang. The path before her was dappled in bright noontime light. The few students she did see, politely smiled and nodded their heads. She returned the gesture in kind and continued towards her destination.
Spying Councilor Bone on a marble bench, her curiosity piqued when she saw a young student at his side. As she approached, she noticed canes flanked either body. A simple, yet elegant black one with an aged silver handle next to the Councilor. A clunky, cobbled piece of joined metal and wood sat near the student. Together, they were poring over a large textbook. Bone held it while the student excitedly pointed at pages, speaking through bites of a sandwich he held in his free hand.
Grayson felt her lips lift into a small smile at the sight as she neared. The expression faltered when the student looked up and saw her. His big amber eyes that had been wide with excitement flashed seamlessly into an expression of fear. His jaw snapped shut and he recoiled behind Bone's body.
Confused, the Councilor's head swiveled in Grayson's direction. At the sight of her, the lines on his face settled into an expression of satisfaction. She drew her shoulders back as she closed the space between them.
"Good afternoon, Councilor," she greeted evenly. Playfully cocking her head, she peered at the student by his side and said, "good afternoon, young man."
The boy flinched when she spoke to him. As if she had raised her baton at him instead of giving him a warm smile. Grayson tried to let the awkward interaction roll off her back, but she felt it seep under her skin.
"Viktor," Bone said, addressing his benchmate kindly. "This is Captain Grayson."
Viktor's eyes flicked to the old man's face and searched it for reassurance. Grayson softened her stance and allowed her arms to dangle casually at her side, instead of barricaded stiffly behind her back.
"It is nice to meet you Viktor," Grayson said, making a point to pull her deep gravel voice to a lighter timbre.
Viktor seemed to find some resolve in Bone's steady presence. He shifted forward and swallowed.
"H-hello Captain Grayson."
"Viktor is from the Undercity," Bone said proudly. "Like me. He's a part of the Academy's scholarship program."
The wheels in Grayson's head began to turn. Then hitched and stopped as she tried to puzzle together what was happening. Bone had called upon her for a meeting. Certainly, it didn't have anything to do with an Academy student.
She masked her unease and said, "Very impressive. Are you enjoying your studies?"
Once again, Viktor looked to the old man for guidance. Grayson watched his chin pucker and she knew he was biting the inside of his lip.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"Viktor and I have been having lunch together these past couple days," Bone explained. "Swapping Underground stories, aren't we lad?"
A nervous giggle bubbled up from Viktor's throat, and he nodded amiably, fingers pinching and tearing at the wrappings of his sandwich.
"I called for the Captain to meet me here," the Councilor said. "She and I are going to have a walking meeting on the way to Council chambers. Well, she'll walk. I'll limp, won't I?"
He gently nudged Viktor in the ribs. An action that finally broke a genuine smile from the child, and Grayson felt her shoulders relax.
"I should get going myself," Viktor said, taking the textbook and sliding it into his satchel. He wrapped the remainder of his lunch and carefully placed it within a smaller pocket. "I am hoping to ask Professor Holmgren a couple questions before class begins."
Viktor looped the satchel strap over his head, took hold of his cane, and hauled himself to his feet.
"See you tomorrow, Viktor."
"See you tomorrow J-jarrot," he replied. The ease vanished from his face as he turned to address Grayson. Replaced by a distant skittishness that lived in the near luminescent glimmer of his eyes. It reminded Grayson of the whumps she'd sometimes see during a midnight shift, startled from their trash buffet.
"It was nice meeting you, Captain Grayson," he mumbled, ducking his chin down a bit.
"It was lovely meeting you too, Viktor."
She smiled at him, and watched as he forced the corners of his mouth to lift in a reciprocal expression. The boy swung his cane around, and his leg followed, guiding him towards one of the Academy's many grand lecture halls.
With the child gone, Bone's face fell.
"Did you see how he looked at you?" he asked. He stared up at the captain from beneath his bushy eyebrows, pale eyes intense.
Grayson gave a quizzical look back.
"Pardon, Councilor?"
"How the boy looked at you," Bone repeated. "Did you see how fearful he was?"
She brought her hands back behind her and reset her boots on the ground.
"Perhaps he is wary of strangers."
"Law enforcement," he replied, taking up his cane, "those sworn to serve and protect, should not invoke such a response. I watched you come across the campus. No other student you passed flinched away."
He hauled himself to his feet, brushed the creases from his trousers and said, "I was impressed and pleasantly surprised with your tact the other day when you and the Sheriff came to my office to ask questions about the weekend robbery. It is why I called for you."
He reached a crepey hand into his jacket and pulled out a folder brimming with parchment. Grayson was confused, but she did not hesitate when he handed it to her.
"Walk with me," Bone commanded, kicking his cane out in front of him and beginning the long walk towards the Council Building.
A vague sense of unease buzzed under Grayson's skin, but she followed.
As she stepped in tandem with the old man, he continued.
"Those reports I just gave you highlight the disparities of reported Enforcer altercations between Piltover and the Undercity. Curbing Enforcer brutality has long been on my list of priorities," Bone explained. His narrow face softened as he looked to his companion. "I am hoping this is something that we can work on together."
Grayson's brows creased, and she chewed her tongue as she gave the folder a cursory glance.
"With all due respect, Councilor," she began, "there is a higher Enforcer presence in the Undercity because there is a higher crime rate. Naturally, there are going to be more reported fights between citizens and officers there."
"Do you know the statistics on reported Enforcer brutality, Captain Grayson?" Bone asked.
She should've, and she mentally kicked herself for falling short.
"One in five," he answered. "Approximately eighty-percent of cases go unreported. Now, those numbers do not distinguish between Piltover and the Undercity – it is for the whole state. But since there are more Enforcers in the Undercity, we can safely assume most of the cases being reported are from those denizens.
"Of those that get reported, do you know how many Enforcers are prosecuted?"
Silence.
"Less than two-percent. And of those who are, the percentage of those officers serving time in Stillwater is even lower."
The staccato tap of Bone's cane punctuated the tight silence between Councilor and Enforcer. Like the ticking of a clock.
"You will find in those reports, Captain Grayson, a worrying trend. If a Trencher robs a market stall and gets caught, nine times out of ten they will be shipped off to Stillwater for some amount of time – depending on the value of what was stolen. Often there are also fines incurred; legal fees and the sort. Very few Undercity constituents have extra coin to go towards additional bills. And so, when they can't pay, they are arrested again.
"If someone from Piltover commits a similar crime, numbers show that they will most likely receive a fine and community service hours. Which, upon completion, could result in the crime being expunged from their record."
Mindful to keep her tone helpful, Grayson said, "Do your reports show that many cases that may start as simple robberies incur additional charges such as resisting arrest? Doesn't that explain harsher sentences?"
"There are frequently four or five Enforcers named as arresting officers in a robbery report from the Undercity, regardless of the perpetrator's history. Meanwhile, a single Enforcer – maybe two – will make a similar arrest in Piltover. How can one resist arrest when they are so massively outnumbered?"
Grayson's lips pulled together in a tight line. The unease under her skin thrummed in harsh waves.
"These statistics do not scratch the surface of the core issue," Bone sighed.
"And what is that?"
"That being born in the Undercity increases citizens risk of being treated unjustly by a system that is meant to protect them. That is why Viktor looked at you fearfully. Because, like it or not, you were not taught to protect him."
The Captain's jaw clamped shut, unsure of what to say.
"Please know, Captain," Bone said kindly, "I am not trying to put you on the spot, nor antagonize you."
The Councilor's face softened and his limping slowed. Grayson followed suit, belatedly realizing that they had arrived at the gleaming marble steps of the Council Building. Before ascending, he turned to look at her.
"Like I said, I asked for you because I can tell you care about people, not where they come from. Enforcer reform is not something I can do on my own. I will need help; specifically, from the inside."
Unease burrowed deeper, leaving Grayson's skin, and settling into her heart and gut. Her mouth was dry and she hoped Bone could not tell how unkeeled she felt.
"I know what I am asking is alarming to you," Bone admitted. "I imagine it is creating quite a lot of dissonance and resistance within you. I am not sorry about that. I'm doing my job. To represent the Undercity and fight for its equity.
"Please. Look over those reports. I have annotated several specific cases, but this project would greatly benefit from someone of your station and clout."
Grayson tucked the file under her arm and said the only thing she could, "I will do what I can, Councilor."
He smiled somberly at her.
"Thank you. I will be in touch."
For assemblies, the Council Chamber windows were kept uncovered. Bone preferred it. For trials, when the mighty and opulent shades were employed, darkening the space – save for the singular shaft of light that beamed down from the highest point of the ceiling onto the defendant – it reminded him too much of being in the mines. The unwelcome memory of being caught in a cave-in; swallowed up by the hunger of pitch, the only relief being the tiniest prick of light far, far above him and his fellow miners. The light should've been a comfort, but Bone knew that if light had tunneled its way through the stone that the integrity of the canopy was compromised. It wouldn't take much for the rest of it to collapse and quash them all.
Bone was seated at one end of the semi-circular table, Hoskel across from him at the other end. Heimerdinger was perched at the apex, the other Councilors taking up their stations between. The standing room in the chamber was occupied by Piltover entrepreneurs who had business with the Council, other involved citizens, some political science students from the Academy, and a court reporter.
They had gotten through the first few appointments of the afternoon relatively quickly. Something Bone would've been happy about if it weren't for the impending case on the docket: Rynweaver and company's inquiry into the Academy's lottery budget.
As the round merchant who had been seeking zoning permits toddled away, Heimerdinger shuffled through the notes in front of him.
"Let's see," the Yordle whistled, thumbing through the parchment, "next up is Mr. Thade Rynweaver."
The rest of the Council followed suit, rustling through their agendas, and drawing up pens. Bone drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair as Rynweaver cut out of the crowd and strode to the mouth of the table. Someone nudged his shoulder, and the Undercity Councilor turned to see a weasely looking assistant in a finely tailored, but unremarkable, black suit handing him packets of parchment.
"Pass them down," the assistant hushed.
Bone did so, taking one for himself before handing the rest off to Councilor Xiu. Rynweaver waited until the whole table was prepared before speaking.
"Esteemed Councilors," he began, "I am here representing not only myself, but all the Academy's benefactors. And behalf of them and myself, I want to thank you for your precious time."
Bone fought a snort. As if the Council had ever or would ever ignore Rynweaver's call.
"And what are the benefactors in need of our time for?" asked Councilor Krum, her bright eyes glancing over Rynweaver's packet.
"I am coming before you today to address a worrying rumor regarding the Academy's lottery program," he said, black-blue eyes cutting to Heimerdinger.
Bone found he could not keep silent.
"You requested an audience for a rumor?"
The nobleman paused, then turned to look at him like it was a painful thing to do.
"If it proves to be just gossip, then this will be a short assembly, and you may continue with your other important cases."
"What is this?" Councilor Hoskel asked, flipping through the packet.
"The documents before you are a comprehensive list of the Academy's lottery benefactors, the amounts they have donated over the past several years, and the number of students who use lottery funds as a means to attend school."
"What are these additional reports?" Heimerdinger asked, setting one half of the papers aside, his bushy eyebrows furrowing. "These don't appear to have anything to do with the Academy's scholarship program – "
"I will explain once the benefactor's question is answered," Rynweaver said. "Tobias Kiramman, another longstanding sponsor, is a good friend with a high-level administrator at the Academy. They told him that there is some scuttlebutt amongst Academy board members about increasing the base donation rate for the lottery program. Is that true, Councilor Heimerdinger?"
Because of his species, and the general way he wore his heart on his sleeve, it was easy to see that Piltover's founder was equally rattled and irritated. His long ears pulled back and lowered. His thick mustache drew back as his lips thinned.
After a long moment, he answered, "The Academy board has not officially met to vote on the topic, but yes, we have been discussing increasing the base for scholarship donations for benefactors of certain tax brackets."
"May I ask what is necessitating this increase?"
Heimerdinger sighed.
"The more prestigious our Academy becomes, the more it costs to attend. That is the way with such institutions. It is an excellent problem for our school to have; but it remains a problem, and therefore must be dealt with. Tuition prices increasing means that the scholarship program will also require more coin."
"Why?" Rynweaver asked. His voice was genuine, but Bone saw a trick in his eyes as the crows feet around them crinkled.
"To account for the differential. So that we can maintain our current number of lottery recipients per year."
"Is that necessary?" Rynweaver inquired, his tone remaining polite while he took a step deeper into the circle of Councilors.
Heimerdinger looked taken aback by the question.
"Councilors," he said, his voice swelled through the chamber, "the additional reports in your packets that Councilor Heimerdinger referred to, broadly cover Academy expenses over the past decade. The most interesting to take note of is that, while it is true tuition rates do increase by some percentage every school year, you'll find that those costs do not necessarily offset the needs and upkeep of buildings, grounds, laboratories, or even course materials."
"The Academy's academic resources are not lacking," Heimerdinger countered.
"Perhaps not for an institution of average means," Rynweaver said, "but an institution like Piltover's is a benchmark. We are the City of Progress after all. Shouldn't the school all of Runeterra is flocking to present the part?"
"Aren't the students what make it a benchmark, Mr. Rynweaver?" Councilor Bolbok questioned. "The minds and people that it is molding?"
"Some certainly," the nobleman agreed. "I myself am an alumnus. As was my father. There is a graph in that packet that shows the average grades of lottery recipients compared to other students. You will see that they are not comparatively exemplary."
"What are you getting at, Mr. Rynweaver?" Councilor Thornenburg asked, plucking the specified page from their packet.
"Now that this rumor has been confirmed, my proposal is this," he said. "I believe that myself and the other benefactors' donations would be of more use elsewhere in the Academy's financial needs. New textbooks, new equipment, updated facilities. Instead of increasing the donation amount for the scholarships, use our funds to improve the school. Make it even more sought after."
Finally, Bone broke in.
"You requested an assembly," he began, "to not only flush out a rumor, but a rumor that has no bearing on this august body. This is a matter for the Academy Board, Mr. Rynweaver, not Piltover's Council. My colleagues will not say as much, but I find it reprehensible that you would not only attempt to bypass the Academy's governing body, but that you would choose this self-serving agenda rather than address what happened at your mine earlier this week."
The polite brightness – faked though it was – in Rynweaver's eyes faded. Cold, indignant revulsion replaced it. Bone felt his chest grow hot and he sneered at the younger man.
"If you are so concerned with where your coin is going, perhaps you should allot it to your business's needs. It is utterly ridiculous that that is not the discussion we are having right now." He looked around at his peers, unsurprised that they looked confused and taken aback. Aggravation cramped in Bone's gut and he stood to alleviate it.
"Reports from the mine this morning said that the death toll is now up to seventy-five. Seventy-five men, women, and children are dead because of an accident at your mine, Mr. Rynweaver."
The cramp in his stomach traveled up to his diaphragm. He gripped his cane tightly, trying to fight the spasm that wanted to make his lungs coil and sputter.
"With all due respect, Councilor Bone," Hoskel said in a tone that offered none, "the accident was just that: an accident. Caused by the weather."
Bone smacked the foot of his cane against the marble floor.
"The weather was not unusual, and there are safe guards that could have been put in place to prevent the cave-in and subsequent rockslide. Better and stronger scaffolding, ceasing mining operations when a tunnel becomes too tenuous to dig in. But no such measures are enforced – "
Bone's breath hitched as the scratch in his lungs demanded to be dealt with. However, he refused to give into his bodily needs and pressed on.
"You are worried about your money being wasted on students who are not in a financial position to fully pay for the Academy – despite their academic performances proving that they deserve to be there – while your employees suffer and die because you won't reallocate your funds."
The first cough burst through Bone's teeth. It surprised the room as much as his standing up did. Internally, the rageful Councilor winced. It was never one cough. Often, once it began, it carried on for several moments. Flustered, he reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his handkerchief. He pressed it to his mouth and cleared his throat. Unfortunately, that set off the body shaking hacks he had tried to tamp down.
Councilor Xiu lifted from her seat and guided Bone back into his as he wheezed and sputtered.
"I think an hour recess is in order," Heimerdinger called out. "The Council is temporarily adjourned."
Katya looked up as the tent flap opened. Will stepped through, moving his glasses from his forehead to the slope of his nose.
"You're early," she observed, putting the lid on another box of bandages, and then marking it.
"Only just."
Will glanced at his wristwatch before taking in the stacked boxes around the tent.
"Is this what you've been doing today?"
"Mostly," Katya sighed. "There haven't been anymore bodies pulled from the rubble since Tuesday evening. I did rounds this morning in the triage tent. Nothing worrying to note. Orders came down from the board to start packing things up and label what is staying in the clinic and what is being sent back to the sanitarium."
Will hummed. "Which is which?"
Katya leaned over a box and pushed a clipboard towards him. He took it up, eyeing the columns before him, and sighed.
"All we have to do is pack and label," she said, stretching her back. "Some laborer or another will come by to transport items down to the clinic or onto a freight. Oh, I got it!"
Will had reached over to grab her coat, which she had spread over a chair. Hurriedly, she jockeyed around a stack of boxes and plucked it up. She threw her arms into it and tucked it around herself. She gave him a grateful grin as the shift bell droned.
"Good luck," she said, heading to the tent's entrance.
She was still looking at Will when she stuck her hand through the tent's slit, and she jumped when it touched something upright, solid, and warm. Katya snatched her hand back to find Silco standing in front of her.
"You need help, young man?" Will asked as his co-worker regained herself.
Silco's eyebrows lifted and he said, "No, I was just – "
His eyes looked over to Katya.
" – My shift ended and I figured I would see if you wanted to walk together. Since we're going to the same place."
Will stood up a little straighter, and Katya replied, "Oh. Yes. Okay. Let's go then. Have a good night, Will!"
She waved goodbye and slipped out of the tent. Together, they wove through the crowd of laborers. Some dispersed toward the mine's stairs and elevators, heading for the perimeter, and then home. Others strode past heading in the direction of the mine, pickaxes on their shoulders, resignation on their faces.
"You didn't have to come get me," Katya said as they neared an exit.
Silco shrugged, and then chuckled.
"It would've been awkward if we had been walking in the same direction, at the same time, and not acknowledged one another, wouldn't it?"
As they strode through the gate, Katya felt the tenseness in her shoulders ease. She allowed her coat and the contraband within to soften and settle against her body now that it was safer. Silco retrieved his cigarette tin from his trouser pocket and placed a pre-rolled one between his lips before lighting it. He noted the subtle curl of her nostrils as the first stream of smoke danced out of his mouth. How the mole on the apple of her cheek lifted in disdain.
"I am not smoking around my mother," he promised. "Per your orders."
Katya looked directly at him and sniffed.
"Good."
He dragged on his smoke before asking, "Does it bother you?"
Katya considered for a moment before answering.
"Only in that it is not healthy. But," she said, "both of my parents used to smoke, so I would be lying if I said it wasn't nostalgic."
"You are not a liar."
It wasn't a question, but it wasn't quite a statement either. Katya looked to her companion, a quizzical squint to her eyes.
"No. I am not a liar," she responded. Then, quietly she added, "A thief perhaps –"
"No. Not that either," Silco interrupted quickly. "Thieving implies wrong-doing. What you're doing isn't wrong."
"That would depend on who you are talking to."
"You're talking to me," he said firmly, fixing her with fiery, icy eyes. "You're supporting your family because you have been given no other means to. And you support your family by assisting others who also cannot get help elsewhere. That's not wrong."
"I was not anticipating a pre-dinner philosophical discussion," Katya muttered. "All right, then. If I am not stealing, what is it?"
"Surviving," Silco answered easily. "The fact you get to stick it to Piltover a bit in the process is just – "
"Icing on the Piltover Petit-Four."
"Exactly." Silco paused before he added, "You said 'that would depend on who you are talking to.' Even if you spoke to Rynweaver and he called it stealing, his opinion holds no weight here."
Katya's mind silenced at that. And for a moment, the fear that accompanied her crimes ebbed.
"You're not a liar, nor a thief, Katya. They might label you that, but that's not who you are."
"Who am I then?"
Silco shrugged, removed the cigarette butt from his lips and flicked it to the ground.
"That is for you to decide."
Katya scoffed and smiled, "What an annoying non-answer."
A deep rumble of a chuckle glided up from Silco's throat, smooth as an oil slick.
"Who are you then?"
His laugh morphed into a considerate hum.
"A survivor, like the rest of the Underground. Like my mum, Vander, Benzo – the fucking idiot. Like Sevika. Like you," he said. "It's not all of who we are, but it's a very large piece."
Katya nodded, unsure of what to say. What Silco had said rattled an old memory loose in her head. It was too dusty to see or hear clearly, but it had the shape of her kitchen table, three bodies around it; the tone and cadence of the sound reminded her of her father. Despite being covered by the veil of time, the memory murmured through her lips.
"What was that?"
"It's something I remember my father telling me and Viktor once," Katya replied, her brow furrowing as she tried to wipe the remembrance clean. "I think he was trying to teach us some history about Piltover and the Undercity. I had asked why so many texts detailed Piltover's rise, while the Undercity was barely a footnote. He had said . . . something like . . . the truth is very inconvenient to write. It is a story very few wish to hear.
"Sorry," she muttered. "I don't know why that came up."
"It's fine," Silco said. "I understand, I think."
A chord deep within him vibrated at her words. It sent a tremor down his arms and he wanted to reach out and grasp Katya's shoulder. Or her hand. To share the center-of-gravity-altering shake his insides were feeling. To ground himself with her.
"The truth is ours," he said. "It's Zaun's story. A story of the survivors, not the thriving. I think that is what your father meant."
A grateful smile, sincere with understanding, pulled at Katya's lips.
"Yes, perhaps."
The smirk Silco often wore lifted into something more resembling a genuine smile, before stopping and looking up at the building they were passing.
"This is us," he said, stepping towards the entrance.
Feeling warm and carefully excited, Katya followed.
The apartment was a few floors up, and when Katya entered, she saw it was nice in a humble, meager way. Larger than anything she had ever lived in, cleaner and sturdier than her current abode, but was still distinctly Undercity. Cracks in the walls, a warped floor, old windows wrapped up to keep the draft out.
The smell, however, was wonderful. Katya's mouth began watering the minute she stepped through the threshold. It wasn't like the fry grease at Jericho's, or any other food stall in the marketplaces. This was fresh, warm, and earthy, with a deep base-note of rib-sticking fat.
"Mum," Silco called out. "We're here."
There was a gentle clatter from the kitchen, the shuffling of feet, and then Enyd's head poked out from around the corner. A cloth was at her lips. She finished clearing her throat into it, before tucking the rag back into her woolen arm warmers and smiling broadly.
"Come in! Come in! Here, let me have your coat."
Before Katya could stop her, Enyd was once again peeling it off her shoulders.
"Oh – er – thank you," Katya managed to squeak. "Careful. There are – "
As she spoke, glass tinkled merrily from within the coat's seams.
"Oh!" Enyd exclaimed. "My apologies. I should've asked – "
"No, it's alright," her guest assured. And then hummed, "Actually . . . hold on."
She sifted through her coat while Enyd held it, muttering to herself.
"Ah! Here! This is for you."
Drawing back, Katya presented a small vial of dark glass. Both Silco and Enyd recognized it as the medicine for the matriarch's blight.
Enyd's face softened and creased in a mixture of gratitude and reluctance. She carefully hung the coat over one arm and took the gift.
"Thank you."
"I know you are probably not yet out of the first bottle I gave you," Katya said. "But Piltover's Sanitarium sent a surplus of supplies to aid with the rescue efforts at the mine. A bottle or two won't be missed."
"I should think not," Silco agreed.
Enyd clutched the vial tighter and ushered the two further inside. As Katya stepped into their living room and eyed the neat stacks of clothes and a sewing basket in a corner near a worn and well-loved rocking chair, her skin prickled with unease. She suddenly felt like she was invading a space that wasn't meant for her. She felt awkward and feared accepting the other woman's too-kind invitation was an overstep. A mistake.
"Would you like a glass of water, Katya?" Enyd asked, as she placed the coat over the back of a chair.
The question cut off the train of panic in her head, but she wrung her hands together as she swiveled to look at the other woman.
"Yes. Thank you."
Enyd smiled and gestured to the kitchen table just a few feet beyond the living room. Her teeth were straighter than her son's, Katya noticed.
"Have a seat."
Awkwardly, Katya wove past the furniture and took a seat at the mismatched table and chairs. Silco breezed behind her and into the galley-style kitchen, fetching three glasses from a cupboard and filling them with water from the tap.
"There's some ice in the box, Silco," Enyd murmured as she entered the kitchen from the hallway entrance.
Katya's ears perked up and her eyes widened. They had an icebox.
Silco approached a rectangular metal cabinet stuffed into one corner of the kitchen. It came up to his chest, and he opened the top cupboard door. Reaching inside, he withdrew a fistful of ice cubes. He distributed them amongst the glasses, and popped the last one into his mouth before closing the icebox's door. He stepped through the kitchen, placing his mother's glass on the counter in front of her, before taking the seat across from Katya. He handed her the chilled glass, ice clinking inside like the medicine vials did in her coat. She accepted the drink, and the intense coolness of the glass reminded her of when she would stick her whole hand into a snow bank when she was little. She took a sip, amazed that the liquid felt cold going all the way down to her stomach.
"What did you make for tonight, Mum?" Silco asked, sipping at his own water.
"It smells delicious!" Katya added, hoping she didn't sound too desperate.
Enyd smiled and drew a large, lumpy canvas bag towards her.
"Well, I spent the afternoon baking," she nodded over her shoulder at a row of bread loaves wrapped in paper, "so that is part of what you smell. But I did use the little bit of excess dough to make rolls. Those are in the oven right now.
"I have a broth of oxtails simmering on the stove. I'm going to slice up this veg Mr. Nimby paid me with, and make a stew. Does that sound alright?"
It sounded more than alright to Katya. Wide gold eyes drifted to the steaming pot behind Enyd on the stove. She tightened the line of her lips, fearing the saliva pooling under her tongue may dribble out if she weren't careful. She hadn't had meat in . . . she couldn't remember the last time. If she and her brother indulged in such a protein at home, it was usually the scraps at the fishmonger that no one wanted. She nodded. Enyd's smile widened and she turned her attention back to the canvas tote.
Katya sipped again at her drink and looked back to Silco, who was leaned back in his chair. The nonchalance she'd seen him carry himself with had shifted into something more at-home and easeful.
"Do you always eat like this?" she joked.
He snorted playfully and shook his head.
"No. Mum just happened to get an especially good haul this week."
"If we did eat like this frequently, perhaps I would be able to get some meat on his bones," Enyd commented, drawing a knife from the butcher's block and pointing its tip at her son.
"Oh wow," Katya breathed, her eyes falling on the small mound of colorful vegetables now on the counter. Too in awe to be in control of her limbs, she lifted to her feet to get a better look at the bounty.
"I haven't even seen some of these," she gasped, stepping closer.
Enyd sidled over to allow space for the other woman at the counter.
"Yes, it's not often such things make it this far underground," she chuckled.
"H-how did you learn to cook these?"
"A lot of trial and error."
Enyd gave Katya her own knife and walked her through the produce they would be adding to the stew pot, what each plant was and how to chop it. A couple of them – like the onions and soot mushrooms – she was familiar with. But when she cut into something that looked like a brown root, she gasped to see that its insides were a deep scarlet.
"That's a ruby tuber," Enyd explained. "It will take longer to cook so we'll put that in now."
She lifted the lid from the tall stockpot, a thick plume of steam erupting from its mouth. The smell of slow-cooked fat and meat coated the inside of Katya's nose. It settled on her tongue and she peered into the pot. It seemed the scent had also pulled Silco into the kitchen, because he suddenly appeared over her shoulder, also looking into the bubbling stew.
Four stubby oxtails percolated in a frothy bath of rich, brown broth. Some of the meat had already fallen off the vertebra bones; the marrow in the middle was melted and mingling with the stock, creating oil slicks across the stew's surface.
Silco reached around Katya, and dared to pluck a strip of meat that was dangling off one of the bones.
"Silco!" Enyd reprimanded, batting him and Katya to the side. She lifted the cutting board, and guided the chopped tuber into the pot.
Unperturbed by his mother's swatting, Silco drew back, hooking Katya's elbow and taking her with him. He bit at half of the meat he had swiped and handed the other piece to her. Tentatively, she accepted his offering and tucked it between her lips. She was not completely successful in muffling the moan that vibrated at the base of her throat. It was unctuous, meaty, and melted on her tongue.
"That good?" he asked, grinning.
"It's delicious! Oh my Gods, Ms. Enyd. You are going to have to roll me out of here."
"Good thing the Sumps are downhill."
Katya rolled her eyes at him, but still smiled. Her tongue ran over her teeth, collecting as much of the oily fat as she could.
"It's Enyd, Katya. I insist," the older woman said, stirring the pot and covering it once again.
"Yes, okay. Enyd," their guest conceded with a pleased grin.
She took up her station at Enyd's side again, and continued cutting vegetables for the stew. Dice the onions, smash the garlic, slice the chard leaves from their stems before cutting them into ribbons. As they went, Enyd occasionally unlidded the pot to stir the contents. One time, she used a fork to fish out a small bundle of well-wilted herbs. Curious, Katya cut the twine and picked through them as her host named each one and explained its purpose and flavor profile.
"It's mostly memory, mind you," she had said and Katya nodded knowingly.
Soon enough, the rolls were pulled from the oven, golden and crusty. Enyd announced that the stew would be ready shortly and that the table should be set. She pointed to a shelf behind her, and Katya and Silco gathered bowls and spoons. They set the table as the older woman turned the stove off and scooped the rolls into a small wicker basket.
"Silco," she called, thrusting the dish towards him. He grabbed for it and she warned, "Wait until we're all seated, please."
He set the basket down with an eye roll. Katya looked at the bread longingly.
"My parents used to say that, too," she said dreamily.
"Yes, it comes in the handbook," Enyd grunted as she brought the stockpot to the table. She heaved it to the middle and stuck a large spoon into it, giving the meal one last stir.
"Bowl, please, Katya."
Katya lifted her dish up and Enyd ladled out a generous portion of stew. Before the young woman could pull the bowl back, one of the melting oxtails was added to the center of the soup. Enyd gave similar portions to herself and her son before sitting down.
Katya stared down at her steaming meal, the awkwardness she had felt upon entering the apartment dissolving into something sweeter and heavier. Gratitude, she realized. And it swelled when Silco held out the basket of rolls to her. She gently plucked one off the top, reveling in how warm and soft it felt.
"Thank you," she murmured, although she was unable to look either host in the eye.
"Thank you for joining us, Katya," Enyd said sweetly. "Let's eat."
Katya wasn't sure how she was going to go back to eating oatmeal and beans after this. It was so good, and she felt badly that the chef couldn't really taste her own creation. Somehow it was both rich – with the slow simmered stock and fatty meat and marrow – and bright – the fresh vegetables and herbs balancing the dish's heaviness out perfectly. She tore the roll in half and took a bite of the spongy, steamy insides. Delicious. But it became even better when she dunked the other half in the stew and let it soak up the broth.
The table was silent as the three satiated the hunger gnawing at their guts, but the energy in the room was comforting, bolstered by the steam from the stockpot and the smell of bread yeast. As the itch in Katya's stomach was scratched, something poked at her heart. She chewed on a strip of meat and softened hunk of ruby tuber as she looked thoughtfully between the other two.
It wasn't the same, but the set up reminded her of her family before Viktor was born. When it was just her, Papa, and Mama. And then, after Mama left, just her, Viktor, and Papa. It had always been three of them. Until it was two. She missed her family, and wondered what a table of four would've been like.
As if sensing her thoughts, Enyd said, "I understand you have a brother, Katya."
She nodded. "My younger brother, yes. Viktor. He studies at the Academy."
"How does he like it?"
The question gave Katya pause, unsure if she had ever asked Viktor such a thing.
"I think so," she answered uncertainly. The words tasted sour on her tongue and ruined her meal. Her lips pursed and she corrected herself, "Actually, I'm not sure if he likes it. Him attending is a necessity. He gets sick easily and the air quality Topside is better for him."
Enyd nodded and Silco shifted in his seat.
"I understand," the older woman said. "I try to visit the Promenade frequently for the same reason." She paused and added, "The medicine you've given me is helping with that, too."
"Good. I'm glad," Katya said quietly, bringing another spoonful of stew up to her lips.
A few more moments passed, punctuated by the clinking of metal on porcelain and soft slurps.
"How long have you two known each other? Silco hadn't mentioned you until recently."
Both young adults sat up straighter and looked at the other from across the table.
"Not long," Katya admitted.
For some reason, the tips of Silco's ears went pink and he said, "Katya did my physical this year."
"Yes. How did that happen by the way?" Katya asked, eying him. "I usually do not see your unit."
"Sevika managed to get some of the schedules turned around," he admitted. She rolled her eyes and scoffed.
"Why did Sevika do that?" Enyd asked, gaze flitting between the two.
"To bully me into helping the Children of Zaun."
"We did not bully you," Silco countered, an exasperated grin covering his face.
"Oh no?"
"No. I think I made it very clear that joining was entirely up to you."
"There seemed to be very little room to deny your argument. Especially since it was delivered so passionately," Katya replied, cheekily.
"The way I said it hardly matters," he said. "What does matter is that it is the truth."
"Hmmm," Enyd hummed, finishing a bite of bread. "What is it my boy told you?"
"He," Katya began, taking herself back to the night Silco had showed her the Undercity and she had seen Zaun for the first time, "said that we – Zaun – deserve opportunity. And respect. That we deserve more than scrounging for scraps. It made me realize that we all deserve to thrive, not just survive."
Enyd smiled with a quiet pride. "He told me something similar."
Easeful conversation flowed across the table for the rest of dinner. Both Katya and Silco had second helpings of stew, and agreed to split the last oxtail. When the bowls were empty, Enyd made to stand and both young adults playfully admonished her before rising themselves and clearing the table. As Silco scrubbed the dishes, Katya prepared a kettle.
Over tea, Enyd told Katya of her Promenade clients and shared the marketplace gossip. Together, they brain-stormed of how to gather more Trenchers into the Children's fold. They dreamed of what Zaun might look like once they were finally free. Katya watched Enyd's light blue eyes become starry and damp as they spoke. She saw Silco's become fiery and confident.
When the teacups were drained, Katya decided (with reluctance) that it was time to go home. As she announced this and lifted from her seat, Enyd addressed her son.
"Walk her home, Silco."
"That is not necessary, Enyd," Katya promised, pushing her chair in.
"Your coat is teeming with stolen goods," she contradicted. "An extra set of eyes will not hurt."
Katya opened her mouth to assure her that she could navigate the Lanes alone, but Silco interrupted.
"If you think I'm bullying, she is downright harassing. I'll walk you home."
A foreign warmth bloomed across her chest, and Katya conceded, fetching her coat from the chair in the living room.
Enyd walked them to the door and said, "Thank you again for coming tonight, Katya. We would love to have you again."
Words caught in her throat as that overwhelming swell of gratitude from earlier rose from her chest to her mouth. Unwilling to let her voice crack, she nodded.
"Perhaps next time you could bring your brother?"
The tide of gratitude ebbed a bit. A discomfort Katya wasn't ready to look at pulling it away. Still, she nodded and quietly thanked her host.
As she and Silco stepped out onto the street, he said, "So, do you need me to roll you?"
The callback made her laugh, and she said, "No. I think my feet can manage. Thank you."
He smirked and retrieved a cigarette from his tin.
They walked in companionable silence for a bit, until Katya said, "It's not just that you spoke to me truthfully, you know."
Surprised, Silco looked over to her.
"Your passion for the cause is what helped me see it for myself. It helped me believe it."
She lifted her gaze to his.
"The truth is hardly any good if you cannot convince people of it," she added. Then smiled, "I just do not want you to downplay the importance of your passion. It matters."
Not knowing what to say to that, Silco nodded and flicked the ash off the tip of his cigarette. He was thankful that the chartreuse glow of the chem-lights hid the pink in his cheeks.
"Do you want to lead once Zaun is free?" Katya asked. "Become the Head of State, or something?"
She asked in a tone that wasn't entirely joking, and it gave him pause.
"Honestly," he began, "I . . . haven't thought that far ahead. Getting the Underground to rally has been my chief concern. Leading a revolution is one thing; leading a nation . . . feels like another. I don't know if I would want that. Besides, it should be up to Zaun who leads them. We will decide collectively what form of government will serve us best."
"And what if we choose you?"
The question ended up being more loaded than Katya intended. There was a charge in the air and it pulled at the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck. Despite this, she leaned in again.
"They don't care, like you said," she continued, jutting her head in the general direction of Piltover. "That's part of the problem, isn't it? Zaun will need someone or a group of someones that cares about its people. That's where your passion serves us best."
Silco smiled to himself.
"Are you auditioning for my cabinet?" he joked. "My campaign manager, perhaps?"
Katya snickered and shoved her hands into her coat pockets.
"No. That does not sound like something I would want to do."
"What would you like to do? Once we're free and have the means?"
Her eyes softened and became thoughtful as she seriously considered the question.
"I'd like to become a doctor, I think," she finally said.
Silco nodded and tossed the stub end of his cigarette away.
"That seems fitting."
The rest of the walk to Katya's home was a mix of easy silence and murmured conversations about nothing in particular. When they reached her door, she stepped forward to unlock it.
As the deadbolt thunked out of the lock, she heard Silco say, "Good night, Katya," behind her.
A thought – a need? – zinged up her spine. She paused, fingers wrapped around the key, considering.
Finally, she turned back to him and said, "You can call me Kat. If you'd like."
Her heart thudded to see his eyebrows soften.
"Good night, Kat."
"Good night, Silco."
A/N: Thank you for reading 3 Please leave a comment on the way out!