#rynweaver | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kikiiswashere · 5 months

Text

Children of Zaun - Chapter 24

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, smut

Chapter Summary: Rynweaver pays Heimerdinger a visit. Grayson and Bone have a talk.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 3.2K

Heimerdinger knew it was coming. He could only stave off this meeting with Rynweaver for so long.

It had been three weeks since the Children of Zaun had made themselves known. Three weeks since security measures had gone into effect. Three weeks since the investigation started. Three weeks – and there were no new developments or leads. And Enforcers were no nearer to tracking down the stolen money.

Rynweaver and the other families who had been stolen from were growing restless and agitated. Heimerdinger couldn’t say that he didn’t entirely understand. While money held little interest for him, he understood the frustration of having one’s belongings snatched away. Sometimes scientific research fell that way, too. Sometimes what you thought was safe, thought was yours, was suddenly slipped out from beneath you.

Money was one thing. Ideas were another.

Heimerdinger shook his head, ears flopping from side to side, and returned his attention to the paperwork on his desk. The new budget reorganization lay before him, and it turned his stomach more than he wished it would. A sidelong glance went to his fireplace, where not long ago the chair Katya Slostov had thrown into the hearth had lain, broken and splintered.

He didn’t know if she had told Viktor about the tuition increase, if he knew that his place at the Academy hung in the balance. He didn’t think so. Viktor had been carrying on like usual: pensive, studious, and dedicated. He gave no sign that he was aware that anything was afoot. Heimerdinger did not approve of keeping the boy in the dark, but Viktor was not his ward. As much as he disagreed with Katya’s decisions, he had no right to trample on them.

Instead, he focused on supporting the boy where it was in his power: in the classroom.

He praised Viktor openly for the initial sketches he had done for the boat he was planning on building in next term’s robotics curriculum. The ingenuity of its shape and proposed motor mechanism caused the yordle’s chest to puff with pride.

Viktor was leaps and bounds ahead of his classmates; even some of the older students. It would be a tragedy for him to cross the Bridge and never come back. To have his burgeoning genius swallowed up and snuffed out by the maw of the Undercity.

The soft, warm buzz of the intercom on his desk pulled Heimerdinger from his thoughts. He stared at the blinking red light by his right hand, letting the signal drone for a beat longer than he normally would.

Finally, he answered. “Yes, Miss Banforth?”

“Professor Heimerdinger, Sir Thade Rynweaver is here to see you.”

Heimerdinger utilized the last moments of privacy for his face to crumple and warp into an expression of long-suffering annoyance.

“Yes, yes. Of course. Send him in, please.”

Heimerdinger gathered the budgeting materials on his desk and stowed them away in a drawer. The door to his office quietly clicked open, Ivy graciously at the knob, directing Rynweaver inside.

Thade was dressed in his usual preferred black ensemble: tailored trousers and waistcoat, and shoes with a lacquered shine. Today, he also wore a knee-length wool coat, silver thread and buttons glistening in the cold-season’s watery light that streamed in from the window behind the desk.

“May I fetch you anything?” Ivy asked.

“Nothing. Thank you,” Rynweaver answered.

Ivy pulled her lips between her teeth and looked to Heimerdinger. He looked kindly at her, mustache lifting at its tips. A gentle shake of his head excused her, and she bowed out, the door softly snicking shut.

“Blessed Snowdown, Mr. Rynweaver.”

“And to you, Professor.”

Thade draped his coat over one of the chairs in front of the desk, and took the other for himself.

“Did Miss Banforth not offer to take your coat?”

Heimerdinger eyed the expensive article, its black so pitch that it sucked up light like a sponge.

“She did. But I trust you understand my hesitancy in handing my things over.”

Heimerdinger’s ears folded minutely.

“I understand how frustrating this is for you and the other families involved, Mr. Rynweaver.”

Thade reached into the inner pocket of his waistcoat and withdrew a slim, silver cigar case. He pulled a matching lighter from his trouser pocket. He did not ask if he could smoke, pulling out a thick cigar and lighting it as if it were his own home.

Heimerdinger’s pink nose wrinkled, his eyes pricking at the intense smell of the smoke.

As Thade went to tuck the case away, he stopped and gestured it to his host, a thick eyebrow lifting.

“I don’t smoke. But thank you.”

“It is frustrating,” Thade sighed, settling into his seat. “And I know that LeDaird is doing everything within his power to right this wrong. To not only recover my funds, but to also put a stop to these terrorists. Stop them before they can do anything truly heinous.”

Heimerdinger nodded, but his mind whirred, wondering when Rynweaver was going to get to his reason for this appointment.

“How may I help you today, Mr. Rynweaver?”

A thick plume of sweet, eye-stinging smoke rose above their heads, refracting the sunlight streaming in through the window. The smoke slowly spun through the air, its tendrils leisurely unfurling and dissipating before the answer came.

It annoyed Heimerdinger, this power play.

“My grandfather told me stories about you, Cecil. From his father, who in turn heard them from his own. Stories about Piltover’s brilliant and dedicated founder. A Yordle – a being tied to spirit and magic, and yet you favor scientific progress and humanity’s growth. Foregoing your, arguably, natural inclinations to bear this great city-state.”

Rynweaver gestured his hand to the space above Heimerdinger’s head, signaling to the sprawling cityscape below the window.

As the man spoke, Heimerdinger’s plush coat hackled and puffed under his clothes. He kept his face open and neutral, but inside he was bristling. Mostly because of Rynweaver’s arrogance and, thus far, vague motives. It also irked him to be called his first name by someone who was not invited to do so. The generalized, vague, and misinformed commentary on his race’s cultural background made his blood hot.

“I am flattered your grandfather spoke so highly of me,” he decided to say. “He was a good man.”

Thade nodded in agreement. “He loved this city. As did my father. As do I, Cecil. As do you.”

He took a lengthy drag from his cigar. Heimerdinger’s ears twitched, sensing that this meeting’s point was about to be revealed.

“I understand that LeDaird is doing everything within his power right now. And yet, no results have been yielded. Not an inkling of information, much less the recovery of my and the other family’s money.” He rolled his cigar between his fingers, blue eyes following it carefully. Then, his voice darkened, “Honestly, I am not anticipating seeing my coin again. Those sump-snipes have probably spent it or sent it away to some secure location. They are most likely preparing a more serious strike.”

The heat in Heimerdinger’s blood chilled, leached out by how Rynweaver’s eyes seemed to go black.

“The Enforcers need more teeth. The Undercity needs to be made afraid. They know how to tolerate a squeeze, a slap on the wrist. These Children are unprecedented, and Piltover must be protected.”

“They are Piltovan citizens, Mr. Rynweaver.”

“And yet some percentage of those citizens committed a terrorist attack. The rest protect them with their silence.” Rynweaver looked at Heimerdinger, cold fire blistering in his gaze. “They do not love Piltover as you or I do. Surely you can see that. We need to protect our city of progress.”

Heimerdinger’s ears tucked back, his thick brow dropped. Lowly, he asked, “What would you have me do, Mr. Rynweaver?”

Thade crossed his long legs. “I am asking you to consider throwing your weight around more. You are Piltover’s founder and greatest champion. While the idea of Council is to ensure a system of checks and balances, and an equitable division of power, everyone knows that push come to shove, your word is law.

“Give LeDaird more leash and tighten up on Bone’s. Allow captains of industry – such as myself – who employ a large populace of the Undercity to use our influence to help flush out these traitors.”

“It is not that simple – “

“It could be though,” Rynweaver bit back. “This is your city, Cecil. And these Children are threatening it. Do not let them.”

With that, Thade lifted from his seat, cigar in hand. He paused and looked around the office before stepping over to the fireplace and crushing the ember end into the hearth’s wall. He tossed the remains into its ashy mouth and went for his coat.

Sliding his arms in their sleeves, he addressed Heimerdinger once more, “Thank you for your time, Professor.”

Heimerdinger’s pink nose twitched at the sudden use of one of his titles.

Thade strode for the office doors, and over his shoulder wished again, “Blessed Snowdown.”

The cold season was always hellish on Bone’s illness. The chill in the air froze the blight in his lungs and trachea into sharp, painful, icy stabs every time he ventured outside. Which made it difficult for him to put his ear to the ground and try and learn about these Children of Zaun.

He did his best, though.

In the days following the Council’s bulletin and subsequent decisions about movement and trade in the Undercity, he hobbled up and down the streets of the Promenade and upper Entresol attempting to glean information from anyone he could.

What hurt more than the pain in his lungs, were the looks of distrust he received from some of the Undercity citizens he approached. The ache sat low in his stomach and tugged down on his heart. He never thought something would stand between him and his people.

He lived for them, would die for them.

It was in those moments – when he was looked up and down, suspicion curling their lips, and doubt in their eyes – that Bone feared he had failed. That he had spent too much time across the river in Piltover’s mighty towers. That all the work he had attempted to do, and what little he had achieved, had gotten stuck in the blankets of kelp that stitched either bank of the Pilt together.

Had he lost that much touch with his constituents?

One afternoon, though, when the sun sat bright and heavy in the sky, he caught a small break.

He had shuffled into a small café that sat on the lip of the Promenade, near a conveyor car station. He’d spent a few hours canvassing the Skylight Commercia to no avail. Disheartened, and chest burning from the cold, he decided to stop and get something warm to drink before limping home.

The few patrons in the establishment looked up as he stepped in. Only a few nodded, the others kept to their drinks and thin sandwiches. Bone coughed into his scarf and approached the cash register. He ordered a mint tea and paid with two gold hexes. When the cashier blanched and sputtered, trying to explain that she did not have the change for such coin, he insisted she keep it regardless.

Bone perched himself on a stool seated in front of the large, greasy windows that looked out onto the conveyor car station. He watched all manner of people and creatures pile into, and traipse out of various cabs. The color and diversity of the Undercity always tugged at something prideful in him. Despite its setbacks, he loved that so many beings from Runeterra settled here, made the Undercity a veritable melting pot.

As the cashier brought him his tea, Bone watched as a conveyor car operator exited his vehicle and trot towards the café. He was a big man – wide, with skin the color of rust. The café’s door jingled merrily open as he pushed through, and a flurry of greetings were sent his way.

Bone’s stomach and heart dropped further. Was it jealousy?

“Tolder!” the cashier greeted. “Usual?”

“Yeah. ‘N can I get,” his gruff voice ground to a hum as he eyed the glass display case full of sweet breads and pre-made sandwiches. “Can I get one o’ the wharf rat tails? They’re muh boy’s favorite.”

“Sure thing.” She placed a steaming paper cup on the counter, and then whipped a paper bag open, reaching for a pastry drenched in glaze at the front of the case. “You gonna be at The Last Drop tonight?”

“Plannin’ on it. Hopefully there’s some idea o’ how to get these fuckin’ enforcers off our backs. Pigs.”

Bone’s ears perked at the man and woman’s exchange. He knew The Last Drop – what Trencher didn’t? – but it had been years since he’d last gone, back when it was under original ownership. He had heard through the grapevine that the previous owner had died in recent years and had passed the establishment to a longtime employee.

Something about what the pair said caused his heart to flutter in interest, his gut poking him with intuition. Bars, taverns, restaurants had long been places for Undercity citizens to meet and gripe about Piltover. But there was something more concrete in their tones, more bite. The word ‘idea’ felt weighty. Promising.

“Thanks fer the coffee and Rat Tail,” the man said, slapping a fistful of coins on the counter and heading for the door.

Bone watched the man stride back towards his conveyor car, and his mind whirred. He sipped at his tea, thinking. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched the woman behind the counter take a wet rag and wipe down the sides of the display case. He wondered if LeDaird or Grayson had, or were planning on investigating The Last Drop.

Draining his cup, Bone stood and limped to the counter, placing the small ceramic mug near the register.

“Thank you.”

The woman looked up from her dusting, and nodded, her lips a thin line.

As he opened the door, a gust of cold, salty wind blew past him. Hurriedly, he pulled his scarf up around his mouth and hacked into it, leaning heavily on his cane. Behind the wet fabric, he grimaced. His lungs burned and throbbed, and he felt light-headed. Indeed, it was time to head home for the day.

As Bone approached the building his loft was in, he was surprised to see Captain Grayson standing in front of the building’s iron and glass door. She was dressed in her uniform and captain’s hat, but her breathing mask was slung around her neck. She remained still, hands behind her back, seemingly unperturbed by the way people walking by would give her a wide, wide berth.

Bone winced. He wished she wouldn’t meet him at his home. It was difficult enough to get his people to trust him; having the Captain of the Enforcers on his doorstep could only cause his constituents to pull away further.

But it had been challenging for he and she to touch base. The minute the Children of Zaun’s letter fell into LeDaird’s hands, Grayson’s time and priorities were automatically spoken for.

“Councilor Bone,” she greeted as he limped up.

“Captain Grayson,” he wheezed from behind his scarf. He glanced around and said, “Come upstairs. I don’t want us to talk here.”

He led her inside, and up the winding metal stairs to his front door. Grayson thought it odd that an old, sick man would be made to have to deal with stairs.

“Is there not a lift?”

Bone coughed and shook his head, wispy hair fluttering side to side.

They arrived at a large, ornately carved door and the Councilor used a key to let them both inside.

Grayson said a quiet thank you as she stepped through the threshold, her eyes habitually roaming over the new environment, taking notes. Small, with high ceilings. Large windows looked out over the river at Piltover, its skyline looming. The space was sparsely furnished and had no noticeable smell.

Behind her, Bone had begun coughing again as he removed his coat and scarf. He batted her away as she stepped over to help. He thumped his cane against the wood floor as the last gasps of the fit lurched from his throat.

“Follow me,” he wheezed, shuffling in the direction of a small, but neat kitchen.

With shaky hands, he filled a glass with water and took a careful sip. His throat burned and head throbbed.

“What can I do for you, Captain?” he finally said, turning. One hand held his cane, the other braced against the countertop.

Grayson watched him carefully. He looked worse than usual, and she was concerned she’d have to leap forward and hold him up.

She set her hands behind her back again, and said, “I am here to touch base.”

A small derisive huff shot from between Bone’s teeth. “Of your own volition? Or on orders from the Sheriff.”

“Both.”

The Councilor nodded and renewed the grip on his cane, standing as tall as his short stature would allow. There was a moment before she spoke where he took her in. Like the first time he’d met her, he sensed her goodness. Her reasonableness. He knew she was the tool he needed to get enforcer brutality in the Lanes under control.

“Sheriff LeDaird is wondering if you have heard anything.”

“Only LeDaird?”

Grayson’s lips thinned. “Admittedly, I am curious, too. There are terrorists in the Undercity, Councilor Bone. My focus right now has to be rooting out the Children of Zaun. You and I cannot do our work while they are free.”

Bone’s wooly brows dropped, knowing she was right. He couldn’t get what he wanted without her. He couldn’t have her time and resources while she and her team were investigating terrorists. The idea to tell her what he had overheard today in the café crossed his mind. But he kept it to himself. After the last several days of doing his own searching, and experiencing the unexpected withdraw of his community, he was nervous to give Captain Grayson anything. It was bad enough that people had seen her on his step.

What good was securing Grayson’s time if his own people didn’t trust him?

There had to be another way.

“I have not heard anything, Captain.”

Grayson looked disappointed as a sigh blew from her nose, arms dropping to her sides. Briefly, Bone felt badly about withholding information from her. But, if he could get to and disperse the Children before the Enforcers closed in, there would be minimal bloodshed, he would hopefully recement his people’s trust, and he and Grayson could carry on with his plans.

“I am sorry, Captain.”

She nodded ruefully. “Thank you. Let me know if you hear anything.”

She turned and began to head back toward the front door.

“Captain Grayson,” Bone called. She turned, eyes questioning. “When you need to seek me out, please do it at my office.”

The smallest embarrassed flush tinged the tops of her wide cheeks. “Yes, Councilor. Apologies.”

He waved the concern aside, and kindly said. “Blessed Snowdown, Captain.”

“Blessed Snowdown, Councilor.”

Notes: A quick lil' chappie. Comparatively speaking 😅. What do we think? Will Heimer cave to Rynweaver's pressure? Is Bone making a good decision leaving Grayson in the dark??

Thank you for reading! I'd love to hear yout thoughts in the comments or reblogs ❤️

Coming Up Next: The Children celebrate Snowdown at The Last Drop. After weeks of avoiding him, Katya asks for a moment of Silco's time.

Taglist: @pinkrose1422 @dreamyonahill @sand-sea-and-fable @truthandadare @altered-delta

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #heimerdinger #grayson #original characters

16 notes · View notes

kikiiswashere · 10 months

Text

Children of Zaun - Chapter 18

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

Story Warnings: Canon typical violence, drug use/dealing, dark themes, eventual smut

Chapter Summary: The Academy Board makes their decision regarding Rynweaver's concerns. Silco can't wait to tell somebody about this opportunity! Katya seems a good a person as any! The Children hold their biggest meeting yet! And Katya and Heimerdinger go toe-to-toe.

Chapter Content Warning: A character suffers a violent outburst and panic attack near the end of the chapter. No one is physically hurt; just emotionally

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 7.9K

Rynweaver left the Academy Board meeting on Monday pleased with the outcome of their decision. His and the other benefactor’s minimum donation amount would be rising, but the coin would be more evenly divvyed up among Academy needs. It made the most sense moving forward, to invest in the Academy as an entity – not only its students. Fortifying the school’s resources would draw additional investors, create clout, and cement Piltover’s identity as a progressive powerhouse.

Thade’s great-great grandfather had pulled himself from the chasm of what was now the Undercity over one hundred years ago. Crawled to the shores of what would be Piltover and began his mining empire. He had believed in hard work and the opportunities it offered up, had past those lessons and mindsets on to his own children, those children to theirs, and so on until Thade’s father instilled it in him.

He felt like he was playing an integral role in his family’s legacy by doing his part to ensure Piltover’s status amongst the nations of Runeterra. It gave him a sense of pride and purpose that growing his family’s mining enterprise simply could not. He loved his home. And its potential.

His feet carried him to the florist near the mouth of Mainspring Crescent. The bell jingled merrily as he let himself inside, and swept to the counter.

“Sir?”

A young and pretty floral assistant addressed him in a light voice, and a small bow.

“I’d like to purchase two arrangements, please. To be sent to separate addresses.”

“Yes, sir.” She pulled a large booklet out from under the counter and said, “This is a list of our more popular designs – “

“You do original arrangements, don’t you?”

“Of course, sir.” She closed the booklet and stowed it back beneath the counter. She pulled out two pieces of paper from a drawer. Each had a long list of flower names. She set a fountain pen down along with them. “Mark off which blooms you would like.”

“Thank you,” Rynweaver said, and he set to work.

Horticulture and botany had been two of his favorite classes at the Academy. He thought it was fitting. Plants and flowers came from the very terra his family tilled, after all. His eyes scanned down the list and ticked off those he wanted.

Nasturtiums. Poppies. Hydrangeas. Geraniums.

He stood, and slid the parchment across the counter. The floral assistant flipped the papers and looked them over, her brow pitching in confusion.

“I know this is an unorthodox gathering,” Rynweaver said, an apologetic smile curling his lips, “but these are the ones I would like.”

“Yes, sir. Both bouquets are to be made with the same flowers?”

“Yes. Please.”

“Very good, sir” the assistant said, gathering the papers and tapping them into a stack on the counter. “Each arrangement comes with a calling card. Would you prefer to pen your own?”

“I would, thank you.”

She handed him two blank cream-colored cards and ducked her chin down once more before stepping away, giving him privacy to write the correspondences.

Thade drew the cards towards him. He tapped the pen against the counter and cocked his head, thinking about just what he wanted to say to Professor Heimerdinger and Councilor Bone.

In truth, he held no true ill-will toward either man. They weren’t worth the time. But they did not share similar values, so, inevitably, they would clash from time to time. And this time, Rynweaver had won.

He knew Heimerdinger’s heart was with his students. Piltover’s founder struggled with the bigger picture; he did not seem to grasp the scope and gravity and potential of Piltover as a whole. Luckily, Rynweaver, his peers, and the other Council members were there to step up where their founder fell short.

Bone . . . Not that Rynweaver would ever admit such a thing, but he admired Bone. Nearly all of the long-standing wealthy families in Piltover had ancestry in the Undercity. They had worked and sweated tooth and nail to rise up to the current stations their prodigy enjoyed. It wasn’t often any longer that a Trencher managed to scrabble their way out of the Fissures, much less cement a place in Piltover as well. It reminded Rynweaver of his family’s own beginnings, and couldn’t begrudge the Councilor for that.

However, he could not abide by Bone’s politics. The old man harped on and on about inequality, inequity, and social ‘responsibility.’ As if the Rynweavers, or any of his peers’ families, hadn’t gotten where they were by their own hard work. Or anyone in Piltover for that matter; or the Promenade even. The ball was not being hidden. Several people simply lacked the fortitude to do well and provide for themselves, and Rynweaver was not about to bend over backwards to foot the bill for outreach programs and policies for lazy Trenchers. Their problems were their own.

Rynweaver set the pen tip down on the first card and scrawled a message to Heimerdinger.

Professor ---

Here’s to Piltover’s Academy and the progress that will surely come of this adjustment. Always, and forever forward!

--- Sir Thade Rynweaver

He folded the card and tucked it inside its envelope, writing the Yordle’s office address on the front. He pulled the second card to him, paused in thought, and then began writing.

Councilor Bone ---

I understand that the Academy Board’s decision today is very upsetting to you. I was also very aggrieved when the new regulations placed on my mine’s operations slowed production, so I know how it feels. However, those imposed sanctions have resulted in less conflict between employees and their superiors. Praise Janna for small miracles.

I hope that reminding you of this allows you to see that this development, too, will most undoubtedly yield greater results for Piltover, and therefore her Undercity. Always, and forever forward.

--- Sir Thade Rynweaver

P.S. – I do hope that cough has since resolved itself.

Rynweaver capped the pen, and stowed Bone’s card in its own envelope and labelled it with the Councilor’s address. As if sensing the completion of the task, the floral assistant appeared again, ducking under a weeping wisteria display behind the counter.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, sir?” She asked, gathering the envelopes.

“No, thank you, that is everything, dear,” he replied, placing his hat back atop his head and striding for the door. As he opened it, he tipped his brim to the assistant, “Have a lovely day.”

A day later, both Heimerdinger and Bone received their floral arrangements.

The Professor read the card once and solemnly held it to his chest, his crystal blue eyes hovering over the unique blend of blooms before him.

Bone read his card and promptly tossed it in his office’s fireplace and set it ablaze. At the end of the day, he crossed the Bridge back to the Promenade and handed the flowers out to wide-eyed Lanes children who’d never seen a flower before.

Most of the day in the clinic was quiet. Katya passed the time by organizing the supplies and completing paperwork the Sanitarium required from assisting the rescue efforts. For a moment, she thought she was going to get out of seeing any patients. Then Kells showed up in the doorway, holding a scrap of fabric over his forearm.

Katya stood up and stepped around the desk. “What happened?”

Kells shrugged, a smug grin on his face. “Got my arm caught between two minecarts,” he said. “Figured I should come see you.”

She eyed his arm. A wet, red splotch had saturated his makeshift bandage. It didn’t look awful . . .

“Come to the exam room,” she said, jerking her head in its direction.

He followed, and took a seat on the exam table while Katya washed her hands at the small sink.

“Let me see,” she said, plopping on her stool and swiveling over.

He peeled the bandage away, revealing a large, bloody scrape.

“I know you just taught us how to treat things like this,” Kells said. “But I wanted a private lesson.”

Katya’s nostrils flared in annoyance. She set her jaw and went about patching the man up. She purposely went through the steps quickly. One, to get him out of her face as fast as possible, and two, to hopefully confuse him, thereby negating a ‘private lesson.’

“Watch where you put your arms next time,” she spat as she taped the bandage down. She shot up from her seat and stalked into the front office, directing him to leave.

Kells chuckled and ran a hand through his wheat-colored hair, following her.

“I’ll try.”

“Don’t try. Do.”

“See you at the meeting,” he said with a sly grin as he slipped out of the office. “Thanks for this.”

Katya harumphed and sat heavily in the chair behind the front desk, thoroughly put out and aggravated. She didn’t think anything could lift her mood other than the tone of the shift bell. However, she was proven wrong when the door opened nearly an hour later and Silco stepped inside. She set her pen down, and stood, looking him up and down for injuries. When she saw none, she was confused, but a smile still bloomed across her face.

“Hey,” she said, rounding the desk. “What are you doing here?”

While Silco maintained his typical cool, aloof energy, there was something undeniably buzzing underneath. His eyes glittered like the sun hitting a patch of ice.

“There was a very promising development over the weekend,” he hushed, stepping closer. “We have a very big, very real opportunity within our grasp.”

Excitedly, he ran Katya through the discussion he and Vander had had with Nasha. About the Piltie stealing and laundering money, and how there was potential to steal it and funnel it back into the Lanes. Perhaps even use some of it to purchase weapons, medicine, and other necessities for the revolution. She did her best to listen, but her head echoed with how he had said ‘our grasp.’

Katya’s heart tittered at the news, at the possibility. At the danger.

“Not only could this help the Lanes,” Silco continued, “but it would be a real first step in getting Piltover to recognize the Children of Zaun and our movement. Get them to legitimately consider our demands.”

Katya nodded, although her face was growing warm and her throat tight.

“And what if they don’t consider our demands?”

Silco sighed. “It’s likely they won’t at first. But if we can utilize these funds to fight for ourselves, it’ll only be a matter of time. We’ll show them.”

The same confidence and zealousness with which he had spoken to her that night on the Promenade radiated from him. That night, fear had been the feeling that overwhelmed her. Now, she felt righteous and safe. She grinned up at him, her gold eyes matching the glitter and hope of his blue ones.

The clinic door opened again, and both Silco and Katya started at the noise. Will stepped inside, also looking surprised at the pair. Usually when he showed up for work, Katya was either by herself, or with a patient; and based on the pair’s close stance and conspiratorial lean toward each other, the young man (who he recognized from the previous week) was not a patient. His brow dropped and he adjusted his glasses.

“Will!” Katya exclaimed. “Is it that time already?”

“It is. Everything alright, young man?”

Silco straightened and nodded. “Yes, I just had something to tell Kat.”

Will hummed and shrugged off his coat. “Well, you shouldn’t dally. Don’t want your supervisor noticing you’re gone for too long.”

He jerked his head toward the open door and hung his coat on the rack. Silco’s lips pursed at the direction. He spared one last look to Katya and said, “See you Wednesday?”

She nodded. He smiled, and left. Will shut the door behind him as Katya went to retrieve her own coat.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“Huh?”

“That young man,” Will clarified. “That’s the second time he’s been to see you.”

Katya scoffed. “I have friends, Will.”

The older man winced. “I’m sure you do, Katya. That isn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” she asked sharply, sliding her arms through her coat and fixing him with a pointed look.

He sighed. “Just that, it’s different is all. I don’t want to see you get hurt. And,” he swallowed, “there’s been some rumblings.”

“Rumblings?”

“About people planning a revolution,” he whispered. “I’ve had a couple patients try to talk me into it. The Children of Zaun, or something.”

A chill tickled down Katya’s spine. Will’s hesitance made her nervous.

“I just don’t want to see you get hurt,” he repeated. “Or get into something you can’t get out of. You’re a bright girl, Katya. And what these people are trying to do . . . It won’t end well.”

Katya wrapped her coat around her body tightly. She gave Will a sympathetic, but firm look, and nodded.

“I’ll be careful.”

Wednesday night, Katya once again took the walk to Sevika’s apartment and waited in the narrow lane in front of her building. She took a few meandering steps back and forth along the uneven cobbles. When the front door screeched open, her head whipped up, and she came to a sudden halt. Sevika traipsed down the steps, her little brother scooped up in her arms, her younger sisters trailing behind her like ducklings. Not only were the children unexpected, but Sevika looked different –

“Are you wearing rouge?” Katya asked, peering up at her tall friend.

The color intensified as Sevika blushed, her grouchy face turning embarrassed. The boy in her thick arms giggled, his ink black hair swishing as he threw his head back. His sister’s grimace returned and she jostled him.

“Yeah, so?” Sevika huffed. “I . . . felt like it.”

“I thought you told Saraph it was because there’s gonna be a girl at the meeting that you like,” one of the younger girls said. The girl next to her – her twin sister, as they were entirely identical – nodded her head in agreement.

“Gods, Liv, I told you to stop eavesdropping!” Sevika whined, the blush creeping down her neck.

“It can’t be eavesdropping if we’re all in the same room!” the other twin claimed.

“Sevika,” Katya cut in, her eyes wandering from small face to small face, “why are you bringing your sisters and brother?”

Sevika groaned. “Because my old man asked me to bring them.” Katya’s eyes went wide, and she explained, “Someone – dunno who – talked to him about the Children, and he’s interested.” Her voice leaned slightly into hope. “He wants the kids to know what’s going on. So, I’m bringing them.” She shimmied the boy in her arms again and said, “You’ve met Lu. The nosy ones are Liv and Lotte. Then theres Lemlyn,” she jut her chin toward a gangly, sullen looking girl, “and Sky.” Sky, who appeared to be older, still lurked behind Lemlyn’s thin shoulder. But where her sister looked indifferent and stoic, Sky’s big hazel eyes flitted about. Not in vigilance, just in observation. Taking mental notes and cataloging away facts of the given moment. She knew because Viktor did the same.

“Saraph is meeting us there,” Sevika continued. “We should get going. Sky, Lem, hold Liv and Lotte’s hands.”

The gaggle of siblings began down the Lane, and after a beat Katya followed. She did not like the idea of Sevika’s father involving his youngest children, but she also knew that their youth would not keep them from eventually knowing and feeling the repercussions of the revolution. They lived in the Lanes after all. They didn’t have the luxury Viktor did, being siloed away on the safe side of the Pilt. They deserved what he had. And they would have it. Her steps became more determined as she caught up with Sevika’s long strides.

“What about your other sisters?”

Sevika shook her head. “They’re all working shifts at the brothel tonight. They know about it, though.”

Katya nodded and helped to usher the little ones in the direction of The Last Drop.

When they arrived at The Drop’s backdoor, Sevika knocked on it in the Children’s secret code, and no one answered. She shared a look with Katya, adjusting her hold on Lu.

“Let me!” The boy cried, leaning far out from his sister’s arms and trying to rap his small fist against the metal.

“Don’t Lu,” Sevika grumbled, hoisting him back. He whined and thrashed in her arms.

“For Janna’s sake, Lu, don’t whine!” Lemlyn snapped.

“Yeah! Don’t whine!” Lotte piped. Liv giggled and stuck her tongue out at her brother.

“Shut up! You can’t tell me what to do!”

“Everyone STOP!” Sevika yelled, glowering down at all her siblings. All five of them clamped their mouths shut, but stared daggers at each other.

“Maybe we should go through the front?” Katya offered.

“Yeah, I guess,” Sevika sighed. “Let’s go. Lem and Sky, remember to hold the twins’ hands.”

The group shuffled around to The Drop’s front door, Katya helping to wrangle the twins as they went. She was grateful that she had only one sibling to worry about. Viktor was thoughtful and well-behaved, but he was still young, and with that youth came unrelenting needs and naivete; she couldn’t imagine being responsible for multiple children.

Sevika and Lu pushed the door open, and the group had to slowly press themselves inside. The tavern was absolutely packed. Throngs of Trenchers, young and old, milled about. Instinctively, Katya held Lem and Sky closer to her, her hands sliding down their arms to check that the twins’ hands were securely held.

“Holy shit,” Sevika murmured, craning her head over the crowd.

“Holy shit,” her brother repeated.

“Lu, don’t.”

“Sevika!” a booming male voice called over the crowd’s chatter. All their heads jerked to one side, seeing her father calling her, waving a thick, dark brown arm through the air. Next to him, Saraph – the first of Sevika’s older sisters – stood, her cleaning caddy still slung over her elbow, her thin arms crossed tightly over her chest.

“Papa!” Lu squealed and flailed his arms. His father guffawed and smiled brightly at the boy.

Sevika rolled her eyes and grabbed for her younger sisters, ushering them through the crowd. Katya followed behind, her jaw tightening at the noise and number of people, eyes restlessly scanning the faces around her.

“Kat!”

A jolt shot up her spine and she spun around, eventually finding Silco through the bodies. He waved her over, and she pulled away from Sevika and her gaggle, grateful that he was positioned in front of one of The Drop’s sheltered booths. Most of the people were pressing and jockeying for space in the center of the tavern.

“Your plan worked it seems,” she said, voice rising to compete with the din.

“It wasn’t just me,” he said, grinning. “Mum pretty much got all of Clapper.”

He gestured to the booth behind him where Enyd sat. A cup of steaming tea was at her elbow. She was holding up the hem of a trouser leg to the light of a small tea candle, merrily flickering on the table. Mouth slightly agape in concentration, she guided a needle up through the ragged fabric. Her eyes flicked over to her son at his voice, and she smiled brightly at Katya.

“Hello, Kat – “

The rest of Enyd’s greeting was cut off by a sudden, harsh cough. She dropped her sewing and ducked her head down into the folds of her sweater. Her slim body shook with the fit, and she reached for her cup of tea.

Katya slid into the seat next to her, concern creasing in a deep divot between her eyebrows. “Are you alright?”

Enyd politely waved the worry away with her free hand as the coughing settled, and she drew her tea up.

“This happens every year when the seasons change,” she promised, sipping her drink.

Katya looked over her shoulder at Silco. He watched his mother, then looked at Katya, his mouth a tight line.

Before anything else could be said, Vander’s voice boomed over the crowd.

“Let’s get started! Annie, go lock the front door! Sil! C’mere!”

Vander stood in front of the bar, towering over most of the crowd. Benzo sat at his side, thick elbows and back propped up against the bar railing. Silco looked back at Katya and his mother, giving them one last lopsided grin before striding to the front of the room. She watched him go, eyes on his shoulders, until Annie breezed by him, heading for the door. Her hazel eyes locked with Katya’s yellow ones. The medic felt her stomach dip at the grimace that twisted the other woman’s youthful features.

“Annie said she saw you and your brother this past weekend,” Enyd said, noticing the wordless exchange. “She felt . . . snubbed.”

“I should apologize,” Katya said, biting her lip.

Enyd patted her hand. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that. Wait until after.”

Katya nodded and they turned their attention to the bar. Vander had perched himself on the countertop, wiggling his behind back to get a more secure seat. Silco had hopped up and stood on the side opposite Benzo. He crossed his arms over his chest, surveying the crowd with a hopeful and mischievous gleam in his eyes.

Slowly, the crowd’s chatter simmered down. Several sets of eyes traveled to the three young men at the bar, their stares ranging from curiosity, to anger, to excitement.

“Right. Well,” Vander started, looking around the room. He looked uncertain and his fingers twitched nervously in his lap. “It’s gratifyin’ to see so many Trenchers here tonight. We’ve been waitin’ fer a turn out like this. A lot of ya know me. Name’s Vander. I own The Last Drop. This is Benzo,” he jabbed a thumb in his peer’s direction. “He owns n’ operates Benzo’s Treasure Trove. Most o’ ya probably familiar with it. ‘N this,” he gestured to his other side, “is Silco.” Vander paused and looked out to the crowd, and then back to the man standing on his bar. “’N, to be honest, the reason you are all here is because of ‘im.”

“Don’t be so modest, Vander,” Silco snapped, causing a breezy chuckle to flutter through the crowd. “While both Vander and I began talking and dreaming of a sovereign nation when we were youths in the mines, freedom is something everyone here has dreamed about. Is something that everyone in this room wants. In fact, I would wager that it is something every single citizen in the Undercity yearns for – whether or not they are here in this room.”

Murmurs of agreement echoed through the tavern. Some bodies shifted excitedly.

“We have not been the first to want to take a stand against Piltover’s hold,” Silco continued, “but we will be the ones who make Topside listen. When we stand up, and show them – together – Zaun shall be a free nation.”

Louder calls and cheers of affirmation rumbled through the bar. The applause was scattered but it bolstered the collective morale all the same.

“We’ve received a tip from a new Sister,” Silco said. He nodded towards a gaggle of girls from Clapper Textile Mill, Nasha and her aunt seated among them. “Some Piltie who works at Clockwork Vault will be illegally transferring stolen coin to Bilgewater – “

Tired and exasperated mutterings about the Topsider’s shady business venture rippled across the tables and booths.

“O’ course a Piltie won’ use his own money to pay debts,” someone hissed.

“Corrupt. The lot of ‘em,” another added. “No more fit to govern themselves, much less The Lanes.”

“ – He will be hiding the money in curtains he is ordering from Clapper, to make it look like a delivery.” Silco continued. “There is a forgery angle here, too, that we may be able to leverage. But our focus is on the money.”

“Our plan fer the coin,” Vander broke in, before any could ask, “is to begin establishing trade relationships with foreign markets. Get that ball rollin’.”

“It will also be helpful when Topside begins to give us the ol’ squeeze,” Benzo added.

“That brings up a good point, actually,” Silco said.

“Oh, a compliment from Silco,” Benzo gasped. “I can die happy, I suppose.”

He received a scathing, skin-peeling glare from his slender compatriot, but no other comment. Instead, Silco continued his initial thought.

“It is important that we acknowledge that freedom is not free. When we begin making ourselves known, they will most certainly retaliate. We will have to fight and bleed for Zaun.”

Silco looked over the crowd, his jaw set and his eyes an icy inferno. He let the final piece go unsaid: some would die for Zaun. And they would be honored as heroes, as the fiercest fighters.

“So how do we get it?” Someone called out. It was Tolder, Lu in his arms, running his small fingers over the seams of his father’s conveyor car operator uniform.

“From what we’ve been told,” Vander said, his gaze looking over to Nasha, “the order will be delivered by airship next week sometime.”

“One of our Sisters has been doing recon work about the hanger the ship will be sailing from,” Silco added, a hand gesturing toward the crowd.

“You’re welcome!” Annie trilled from the back of the room, fluttering her fingers at the founders.

“And,” Silco pressed on, “while we have not officially decided this, it is looking like our best chance will be to smuggle aboard the ship.”

“Why not steal the money before the delivery gets loaded onto the airship?” asked a voice from the crowd.

“Why not parade as the airship crew?” another voiced.

“Because the crew has been specially picked out by this Topside prick,” Benzo answered. “They’ll be checking fer the money ‘fore they take off.”

“So, who’s gonna sneak aboard then?” Sevika asked, taking a determined step toward the bar. Katya’s stomach swooped at the sight, at the thought.

“Just a few of us,” Silco answered, widening his stance. The crowd in front of him began to shift and rustle excitedly, nearly everyone frothing at the bit to be involved, and stick it to Topside. “We can’t have the lot of us storming the airship base; it’ll cause more chaos than forward momentum. This is a job that will require stealth, not brute force.”

“Once we get the coin,” Vander said, “we will need to break it up, and hide it fer a bit. We’ll need volunteers fer that.”

The rest of the meeting devolved into Trenchers airing grievances and venting about Topside, especially in the wake of the botched weapons and ammunition robbery a few weeks prior. Greater numbers of Enforcers had taken to stalking the Lanes, invasively probing business owners, conducting illegal searches of people and homes, and some citizens had their Bridge passports unceremoniously revoked.

Equal amounts of tension and comradery vibrated throughout The Last Drop.

Katya did not doubt Silco’s fortitude for their cause. Nor did she doubt Vander, Benzo or Sevika; but seeing so many strangers collectively bristle and commiserate, seeing so many faces grow bright with righteous indignation, made her heart swell. It felt like true change was afoot.

Eventually, people started leaving in pairs and groups, the air thick with a sense of belonging. As Kells and his gang sauntered for the door, he caught Katya’s eye and jokingly bowed at his waist. She curled her lip in disgust and looked away.

“You know him?” Enyd asked, sipping her tea.

“Not really, but he insists on bothering me.”

Finally, Silco had waded his way back to their booth. It had taken him a moment, as people intercepted his path to talk, ask questions, and offer ideas. The tops of his cheeks were flushed and there was an excited, pleased shine to his eyes.

“That went well, I think,” Enyd said as he sidled up. He nodded, his cheeks pinching in a smile that he stopped from getting too big.

“I hope you didn’t mind not getting to do a medical presentation,” he suddenly said as Katya stood from her seat, swishing and adjusting her coat.

She waved off his concern. “It is fine. I don’t know how good I would have been in front of so many people anyway.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine – “

“Hey Sil!” Sevika barked, leaping toward their small group. “The job. I want in.” She was practically vibrating.

“We haven’t made any decisions yet, Sevika,” Silco answered, all annoyance and grit. “And I will be honest, when we do, the group will be those of us who are slighter in stature.”

She groaned loudly and slumped her shoulders. “Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious, ‘Vika?” Katya chuckled. “People like you and Vander would stick out like sore thumbs. It will be difficult to hide and sneak.”

Before Sevika could snipe back, Nasha sashayed up. She eyed Katya momentarily before turning her attention to her agitated peer.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetness,” she cooed in a tone beyond her years. “’Sides, you gotta keep those muscles frosty for pummeling Enforcers when the time comes.”

She ran a hand bedecked in simple silver and gold rings up Sevika’s bicep and shoulder. Katya raised her eyebrows and her friend blushed horribly.

“We haven’t met yet, I don’t think. I’m Nasha.”

“Hello, Nasha. I’m Katya.”

“Mmmm . . . an hourglass-shaped kitty cat, huh?” Nasha said, reaching out a long arm and brushing Katya’s coat open a touch, eying her hip-to-waist ratio.

“Katya, actually,” she corrected, stepping back.

“Katya. Yes, sure. Of course.”

The medic gave her a placating grin, although Nasha’s attention had fully turned toward Sevika.

“I should get going,” she said to Silco and Enyd. “I need to speak to Annie before I leave.”

“Kat, hold on,” Silco said, reaching out to grab her arm before she walked away. There was a brief pause before he pulled her off to the side, away from Sevika and Nasha’s heavy flirting.

“We have actually decided on a small team for the job,” he whispered as they huddled in a corner near the booth. “It’s going to be me, Annie, and Beckett. We could use one more. Would you consider?”

“Me? Why me?”

“Because you’re level-headed,” he answered. “And you know how to steal things.”

“I thought it wasn’t stealing,” she teased, “when it isn’t wrong to do.”

Silco grinned at her. “You’re right. Regardless, you have expertise here.”

Katya smiled, pleased. Then it melted away.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. For me to join the team, I mean. While I know you’ll be more careful than with the last job, I cannot risk being found out. Not with Viktor at the Academy. I am already jeopardizing – “

“I understand,” Silco said, although disappointment flickered across his face. “You’re not doing wrong by your brother, but I understand your concern.”

She murmured a thanks, and said good night to him and Enyd before skirting through the crowd, looking for Annie. She found the young woman perched on Beckett’s knee; the pair seated at a table with a few other younger Children Katya did not know. Annie noticed Katya walking up, and did not try to hide the displeased expression on her face.

“I am sorry to interrupt,” Katya said, addressing the table. And then to Annie, “I wanted to apologize for this past weekend. I know it was rude of me – “

“Yeah, it was,” the other woman sneered.

“It was,” she agreed. “It’s just that I was with my brother, and he does not know about all of this.”

She fluttered her hand through the air, referring to the remaining Children members milling about.

“It’s okay,” Beckett said. “We get it. We were just excited to see you.”

Katya noticed how Annie did not say that it was okay. She gave the redhead a grateful smile, before addressing the woman on his lap. “I am sorry, Annie. Please know it wasn’t personal.”

Annie’s sneer lessened a little, but she didn’t say anymore. She simply nodded and turned her attention back to the table. Beckett leaned away and gave Katya a kind, reassuring look. She returned it with a weak smile, and left The Last Drop.

The following day’s afternoon, Katya found herself in the hall outside Heimerdinger’s office. Her knees bobbled up and down furiously as her mind wondered why the expensive chair she was seated in was so uncomfortable.

She hated these conferences. It was bad enough that she had to ferry Viktor into Piltover every week, it was bad enough that they spent so much time away from one another, it was bad enough that the Undercity had nothing equivalent to the Academy for her brother or any other Trencher youth to attend. Now, she had had to cross the Bridge for an additional time this week. Setting foot on Piltover’s pristine streets and walking through the esteemed Academy’s campus; into the Academy’s Quarter’s for Administration, receiving distrustful and accusing looks the whole way. It was clear to everyone she passed that she didn’t belong. Not with her too-pale skin, muted and patched clothing, and lack of ornamentation – no jewelry, hair trinkets, or fascinator. She knew that everything about her screamed Undercity to the Topsiders she passed. Little did they know, she thought to herself as she went, that she wasn’t from the Undercity – she was from Zaun. The reminder made her hold her chin up a little higher than previous times marching into Piltover.

Luckily, she did not need to wait long in the hallway before Ivy stuck her head out with a beaming smile.

“Professor Heimerdinger will see you now, Katya.”

Katya leapt to her feet and followed the aide through the grossly ornate doors, her chest squeezing in annoyance at the constant flaunting of wealth. The swell of irritation continued to lap at her ribs as she was led through the office’s lounge. It always struck her as pompous and unnecessary that such a little individual would have such a large office space – Founder of Piltover, Dean of the Academy, or no.

“Can I get you anything, Katya?” Ivy asked as she reached for the handles on the matching set of gilded doors. “Water? Tea?”

“No, thank you.” She didn’t want to be made comfortable. Not here. Not with Heimerdinger.

The doors were opened and Katya stepped through, giving Ivy a stiff, but grateful nod. She took in the sight before her. She’d seen it before – at Viktor’s other conferences – but it still fanned the flames of frustration and ire within her. Heimerdinger at his grand desk, seated in a high back chair; behind him, floor-to-ceiling windows framed the sight of Piltover sprawling beneath his office.

“Miss Katya!” the Yordle said brightly, his voice a chime that rang through his spacious office. “Please! Please! Come in! Come in!”

He waved her over and gestured to one of the smaller chairs in front of his desk. She heeded him and strode over, taking the seat angled away from the large marble fireplace who’s hearth could house her kitchen table and chairs easily. She couldn’t stand to look at it.

“Tea? Coffee? Would you like a fire to be made?” Heimerdinger asked, eying her coat with concern.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” she said, sitting primly in her seat. Ankles crossed, keeping her shoulders over her hips so she wouldn’t lean against the back of the chair.

“Right then,” he replied, unperturbed (or unaware) of her discomfort. “Let’s begin, shall we?”

“Yes, please.”

“Well,” he chuckled, shuffling through the papers in front of him, “per usual, I and Viktor’s other professors have nothing to say but wonderful things about your brother. He’s an absolute delight. Endlessly bright, thoughtful, studious, proactive, meticulous.”

Despite the protective, angry heat within her, Katya still felt, and allowed, the small, grounded hum of pride vibrate through her bones. At least Piltover recognized Viktor’s brilliance; that wouldn’t be something she needed to fight with them about.

“I am very excited to see what he comes up with in next semester’s engineering class,” Heimerdinger sighed.

“He is very excited as well. He is already preparing.”

“Of course he is!” laughed Heimerdinger.

“He is wanting to build a boat for the course,” Katya admitted.

The Yordle’s laugh wound down, and he joked, “I do hope that he keeps his designs to that of a toy boat. The marina is not near the Hall of Sciences.”

“I will keep his expectations in line,” she replied, letting a stiff, placating smile loose.

Heimerdinger giggled and nodded as he leafed through the papers on his desk, looking for his next talking point.

“The only area,” he began, voice taking on a more serious tone, “where we would like to see improvement is in his interactions with his peers.”

Immediately, the hot and angry wall bricked itself back up in Katya’s chest. This was the same ‘take away’ from every conference. And she pointed out as much.

“With all due respect, Professor,” she said slowly, “we have had this discussion before – “

“I know we have – “

“ – and there has been no improvement. Early on, Viktor told me he tried to socialize with his peers, and they displayed no interest. A child can take rejection only so many times. Perhaps the other students should be instructed on being more inclusive.”

Heimerdinger sighed and nodded his head. “I take your point, Miss Katya. I really do.”

She fought to roll her eyes and scoff.

“Does he have any friends in the Undercity?”

She suddenly became warm under her coat. Her tongue glued itself to the roof of her mouth.

“He comes home on the weekends with so much homework that there is not really any time for socializing.”

Not entirely true; yes, Viktor came home with a lot of studying and work, but Katya was selfish with him when he was home. She knew she was.

Heimerdinger nodded in understanding again. “The Academy’s course loads are very demanding. Even for the younger grades.”

Katya fidgeted in her seat and checked her pocket watch.

“I do not mean to be rude, Professor,” she said, “but is there much else? I need to get back across the Bridge.”

Another lie. She just wanted to get out of his office.

“We are almost finished, Miss Katya,” he said. He picked through his stack of papers again. Slowing down as he went, his cheerful expression morphing into something somber and braced. “There is one last thing I need to discuss with you. To make you aware of.”

Despite not having an inkling of what was coming, dread flooded her veins. Simultaneously dousing and stoking the simmering rage within her. Her heart beat quickened, arms and legs stiffening.

“This past Monday,” he began, separating a few documents from the stack, “the Academy Board agreed on reorganizing and redistributing funds starting next semester.”

“What does that mean?”

“Well, it means that we can begin improving resources for students and faculty,” Heimerdinger explained. “It means we can increase the number of courses available. It means we can invite guest instructors who are experts in a variety of fields.”

Despite all these wonderful things, his face grew rigid and more serious. Finally, he heaved a breath and said, “It also means that the funds for the scholarship program will be decreasing.”

Katya’s stomach plummeted to her feet and her heart froze. She stared at the Professor until her eyes began to dry and ache.

“W-what?”

“I know that this is not good news.”

“Why would the Board change the scholarship program?”

“To redistribute those funds more evenly across other campus needs,” he explained, “like the ones I mentioned.”

Katya’s mind spun. She found it hard to keep her voice steady, to not cry. “I – I cannot pay any more than what I am already paying.”

She felt her face getting hot, her heart thumping faster. Her bones began vibrating beneath her muscles and skin.

“I know,” Heimerdinger said kindly, somberly. He slid a hand across the desk in a gesture that was meant to convey solidarity. But Katya knew it was going to be a grab. She knew what was coming next. Timidly, he slipped the few pieces of paper he had pulled out across his desk. “And I realize the seriousness of what I am about to ask you – “

Katya’s eyes flicked to the documents. Guardianship Papers. She stared at them, willing them to burst into flames right on his expensive leather blotter.

“ – I would like Viktor to continue his studies at the Academy just as much as you do.” Katya seethed at the thought of Heimerdinger thinking he could want anything for Viktor as much as she did. “I would like you to reconsider transferring his guardianship to me.”

As if those were the magic words to break Katya’s temper free, she shot to her feet and swept her arm across the desk, not only sending the guardianship papers flying, but other neat stacks, pens, and a well of ink that shattered on the floor. The dark color bled through the carpet just as Katya’s fury bled through her voice.

“FUCK YOU!” she screamed, leaning over the desk. It was wide enough that Heimerdinger did not feel the need to jerk back, but his eyes widened and ears folded. “Fuck you and this school! My brother deserves to be here! You are lucky that he is here! You’ve said as much yourself! Raising his year’s grade point average and all that! He makes this fucking place look good, so you can get those fucking expensive outside instructors interested! The one’s you’d rather pay than further funding his scholarship!”

Her bones rattled and her muscles twitched. The need to lash out became overwhelming. She knew she couldn’t assault the Professor. His chair would have to do. She grabbed for the second chair in front of his desk, and threw it into the fireplace. The wood cracked and splintered against the stone. Behind her, Katya was distantly aware that the office door had opened, Ivy coming in to check on the sudden noise.

“Miss Katya,” Heimerdinger tried to sooth, “I know this news is not ideal, and that this choice is difficult, but Viktor will fare better here.”

“He should not have to choose between his future and his family!” she screamed, slamming her palms onto the desk. “This is not a solution! You can’t take him away!”

Heimerdinger’s brows furrowed. He held a hand up to Ivy, signaling her to remain where she was. “Miss Katya,” he said again, tone firmer, “I understand that you are upset – “

“You understand nothing!” she cried, slamming her palms on the desk again. It hurt; her hands tingled. She felt her throat squeezing shut, hot tears building behind her eyes. “This is not a solution!” she repeated. “I won’t give him to you!”

Before the Professor could respond, Katya spun on her heel and stormed out of the office, pushing past a bewildered Ivy. Her mind was roaring, her heart on fire, her body trembling, her vision white with rage. She didn’t remember stalking across campus, didn’t remember passing the cafés and shops along Mainspring Crescent, didn’t remember almost running across the Bridge, back towards the Undercity.

She was not even aware of where her legs were carrying her. She didn’t see the people and colors of Zaun as she descended into its maw. She was too angry, too scared to think. She couldn’t lose her brother. She wouldn’t. She carelessly wove through the beginnings of the Undercity’s nightlife, eyes glazed, body taut.

She barely recognized the warm and cheerful and growingly familiar atmosphere of The Last Drop when she entered. She ignored the few people who raised their glasses to her. Her feet stumbled toward the bar. Vander looked up as she approached, Silco swiveled on his stool. She didn’t know he was going to be there, but she was glad for it. She wanted him there.

His usually reserved expression ticked into concern when he saw her – saw the expression on her face – and he rose from his seat. He grabbed for her when she was within arm’s reach.

“Come here,” he whispered, guiding her around the bar and to The Drop’s private quarters.

Vander gawped for a moment, before turning to Benzo – who was also seated on a stool – and said, “Watch th’bar fer a sec, would’ja?”

His friend nodded, eyes tracking where the pair had gone.

When Silco led Katya into the private hallway, she gasped. She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath. Inhales and exhales came out of her mouth in panicked puffs. Hot tears finally slid from her eyes. They burned her cheeks. Her body shook and convulsed, her jaw chattering.

Silco gripped her shoulders. “What happened?”

“They want to take him,” she gulped. “Heimerdinger wants to take Viktor away from me.”

“What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

Behind Silco, Vander slipped through the door, his silver eyes wide and confused. He looked from Katya, to the hold Silco had on her, to Silco himself.

“What’s happenin’?”

“Viktor’s scholarship fund. The board is decreasing the money allotted to it.” Finally an anguished cry ripped from her throat. “They want more money starting next semester. I don’t have it; I don’t have it. It’s already too much – “

Before she could say more, Silco pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her tightly. She wailed, and he looked to Vander. His Brother looked lost, and sad.

“It’s okay,” Silco said, lips brushing through her hair. “They’re not going to get Viktor. We won’t let them.”

Katya’s arms gripped him back, grabbing at the back of his shirt in bunches. His voice rumbled through his throat and vibrated against her cheek and forehead. She felt their hearts beating against one another, his guiding hers back to a slower rhythm. His ribcage pressed against her hold and she used it as a guide to slow her own breathing.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again. Soft. Solid. Certain.

Katya closed her eyes and let herself believe it.

About an hour later, Katya was perched on Vander’s lumpy couch. A cup of tea in her hands, Silco at her side. Vander had gone back to the bar, but said he would be back to check in. He also said she was welcome to stay the night if she needed. She didn’t know if she needed that yet. Or wanted it.

She sat on the edge of the couch cushion, pitched forward, her elbows propped on her knees, her gaze on her tea. Silco sat close, his hip butted up against hers, an arm wrapped around her shoulders. Occasionally, his thumb would sweep up and down her deltoid. The connection was soothing. For the first time in a long time, she was grateful for the contact. It kept her grounded.

He didn’t push her to explain more. They sat in silence, save for the periodic muffled laughter that would spill in from the bar floor. While her mind had slowed, many thoughts still pulsed through her head. Attempts at solutions for her problem, wishing her papa was here, if she would or should tell Viktor about Heimerdinger’s offer. Most pervasive was the burning cold disdain for Piltover. For putting her in this position. For putting her brother in this position. How dare they . . .

“I’ll do it,” Katya said lowly. Silco jerked at the sudden sound, and he tilted his head toward her in question. “The job. Stealing the money. I’ll do it. I want to.”

A long breath flowed out through Silco’s nose. He gripped her shoulder tighter, drawing her in and rested his chin on her head.

Notes: Whump n' cuddles! I repeat: WHUMP N' CUDDLES!!! What do we think? Is Heimer overstepping, or is Katya bein selfish? What about Mr. Rynweaver and his lovely bouquets?? Oh, which reminds me . . . In Victorian times, those flowers represented the following:

~ Nasturtiums: Patriotism, Conquest, Victory in Battle

~ Poppies: Consolation

~ Hydrangeas: Gratitude for being understood; also frigidity and heartlessness

~ Geraniums: Folly, Stupidity

Ain't he a petty little stinker?? Please leave a comment and reblog, and let me know what you're thinking. My ask box is always open, too. So much love to you, dear reader

Coming Up Next: The Heist. Need I say more?

Next Chapter

Taglist: @dreamyonahill @pinkrose1422 @altered-delta @truthandadare @sand-sea-and-fable

Message me if you'd like to be added to the taglist

#children of zaun #coz #arcane #arcane fanfic #silco #vander #benzo #sevika #original characters #silco fanfic #my writing

17 notes · View notes