#thread: medic in zaun

[arcanescionmoved]

⌜ @goldenmedic ⌟ ―― Caitlyn & Alexis ❝ Life could be strange at times, and lead to entirely unexpected encounters. Alexis had been strolling down a side street of Zaun, and had paused just long enough to collect a half smoked cigarette from the edge of a wooden box tossed haphazardly to hear a sound that they knew entirely too well. Head tilting a bit they glanced down a section that was a bit too big to be an alleyway yet too small to be a full side street. It was more of a convenient shortcut for cargo than anything else, and a good spot for ambushes as well. The sound of course had been someone that was hurt.

Stepping towards the cargo path Alexis blew on the cigarette before placing it between their lips, and lighting it. Softly they murmured in Ionian. “Just walk away. You know better than to get involved in some silliness. This is Zaun. Walk. Away.” Taking a drag off of the cigarette Alexis hesitated, and than turned away privately deciding whoever was down there was likely dead anyways. Another sound of pain slid through the air however, and Alexis let out a long soft sigh.

They had always just wanted to be a doctor.

Turning back Alexis headed down the cargo path, until finally finding Caitlyn. Staring down at the woman Alexis took another puff off of their smoke. “Not at all how I was expecting my day to go finding someone like you down here, but than I highly doubt you are having the day you expected either.” Their voice wasn’t so much uncaring as flat, and dry. It matched their nearly expressionless face, but somehow it wasn’t threatening exactly. Eyes not predatory, but wary and flattened. Almost like an Enforcer who had been on the job for years, and had seen so much people wondered how they had managed not to fall into a bottle yet and stay there. Their appearance could best be summed up as androgynous. Cheekbones that seemed feminine, and hands to match. Torso covered by a button up shirt, and a coat that made them seem bulkier and their shoulders broader while not showing any real sign of breasts. A stance that was confident, and at ease no matter were they might go. Hair cut short enough not to be pulled back into a pony trail, or some other similar thing yet long enough strands fell down over their eyes that were covered by black rimmed glasses. Man? Woman? You could call them either really, and those around would likely shrug.

“Fuck me. I really need to learn to mind my own business. Ahhh, *Saru mo ki kara ochiru. Look I’m a trained medic. My name is Alexis Ogata, and I’m going to help you. Just relax, and let me look you over and I’ll get you fixed up.” Tossing their cigarette to one side they held up a hand making a soothing motion as their other hand slipped into their coat, and pulled out a sizable first aid kit. Crouching down Alexis moved in closer to Caitlyn. “Can you talk? You know where you are? Your name? And let’s see some of these injuries.”

*Even monkeys fall from trees/Everyone makes mistakes ❞

Caitlyn hissed as she pushed herself up against the wall of the alleyway. Her hand pressed against her abdomen when the blade had penetrated right through fabric and leather. "Vi is going kill me," She whispered more to herself. Can't say the others were that well off though, while Caitlyn did not actively participate in violence (preferring words over fists), she also wasn't going to just stand aside and just let them think she would just roll over and let them kill her. Caitlyn reached over, tugging off her backpack when her eyes flashed in the direction of the person heading toward her. Her instinct was to threaten, in her state, it was like a wounded deer and wolves could smell blood. "I'm fine," Caitlyn said, as she shifted before hissing again, flinching in pain as she lowered her hand down seeing the blood against her palm. "It's just… a scratch," Which was a blatant lie if any, but honestly she didn't know if she could trust them.

Their emotionless tone didn't leave for much comfort either, as she was grabbing the top of her bag open, trying to find the med kit of hers. She paused when they started to speak another language, trying to process exactly what happened at that moment. "Either I'm really lucky, or this is a very twisted joke," Caitlyn said, though she tried to take the more positive outlook that she would have helped. Alexis, she planted the name in her mind as she watched them pull out a kit as if they expected to be of use in their walk today.

"I can talk," Caitlyn said as she slowly moved her hand away from the stab wound on her waist. "I'm Caitlyn, and I'm in Zaun. Just… had a bit of a tiff with some people," Caitlyn explained as she reached in to gather her medic kit and dropped it down between her legs. "In case you need something else," Caitlyn offered. She never went anywhere without it, old habits from her academy training. She no longer was an enforcer, she had left that behind. But she still carried the important knowledge that came from it; including first aid care on the scene as well as hand-to-hand combat. It proved of use from time to time. "Thank you," Caitlyn said as she looked toward the other and genuinely meant it. "For helping,"

[eatmyheartoutjpg]

𓇻 𝗦𝗧𝗜𝗖𝗛𝗘𝗦 ˢᵉᵛⁱᵏᵃ ˣ ᵍⁿ ʳᵉᵃᵈᵉʳ

𝙎𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮 ;; Platonic (can be seen as rom). You are a horrible fighter and very much weak. So, no one understands why you're the other hand of Silco, and alongside his second in command, Sevika. But one day, she stumbles back and you show off your skills. 𝘼/𝙉 ;; If you're wondering how I'm cranking these out, it's because these were sitting in my drafts and I've decided to post them after a bit of refurbishing! Also, not a big fan of this one, doesn't have a smooth flow.

11.23.24

The dim glow of neon buzzed faintly outside Silco's office. Zaun always hummed with life, but tonight, there was an edge to it—a tension that hung heavy in the air. You sat quietly in the corner, as you often did, thumbing through a well-worn medical journal that had somehow survived the grime of the Undercity. Silco was across the room, doing his usual paperwork. Both of you remained silent, the only sounds being his pen scratching paper or the flipping of your pages.

Silco didn't pick you for your combat skills—everyone knew that. You weren't Sevika, with her mechanical arm and ruthless efficiency, nor were you one of the brash enforcers who made Piltover's elites shudder. You were soft, meek even, compared to them. The whispering never stopped. "Why keep a fragile little thing like that so close?"

You didn't care at all, you're only here to work.

The door slammed open, and Sevika staggered in, the floorboards loudly squeaking underneath her weight. Blood seeped through a gash in her side, staining her coat. She leaned heavily on the doorframe, her usual air of dominance replaced by exhaustion and pain.

"Sevika." Silco's voice was sharp, but calm, as he rose from his chair. His cold eyes flicked to you. "Do something."

You were already moving, tossing your book aside and rushing to Sevika's side. She waved you off with a grunt, trying to brush past you, but her knees buckled.

"Sit down before you collapse," you snapped, uncharacteristically firm.

Her glare could've melted steel, but she complied, sinking into a chair. "Don't need a damn babysitter," she muttered, clutching her side.

"You need stitches," you said, pulling open your satchel. You always carried it, just in case—gloves, thread, antiseptic, syringes, and tools you'd cobbled together over the years. "And maybe a tetanus shot if whatever stabbed you wasn't clean."

You snapped on your gloves, stretching them around your fingers. You seemed oddly calm, as if this were routine.

"How do you even—?" Sevika started, but winced as you pressed gauze against the wound.

"Hold still." Your hands moved with precision, cleaning the wound and threading the needle. You heard her grunt in pain. "This would be easier if you stopped squirming." You felt the warmth of her blood coating your gloves.

Silco watched from the corner, silent but attentive. His gaze was calculating, as though measuring you against some invisible scale.

Sevika's breathing steadied as you worked. Her grumbles softened into a grudging silence, and when you tied off the final stitch, she finally spoke. "

You're good at this," she admitted, though her tone was reluctant. She never knew you could do this. She's never seen you work.

"Better than being good at fighting, don't you think?"

Silco’s lips twitched—just barely—but it was the closest thing to a smile you’d seen from him. "Better indeed," he murmured.

Sevika leaned back in her chair, examining your work. "Guess I owe you one," she said gruffly, though her tone suggested she wasn't thrilled about it.

You shrugged, collecting your things. "Just doing my job."

For the first time, the room was silent—not out of suspicion or derision, but respect.

The quiet between the three of you didn't last long. Sevika shifted in her chair, grimacing as she tested her side. "Still hurts like hell," she grumbled, though there was less edge to her tone.

"That's because you're not a machine, Sevika, no matter how much that arm makes you think you are," you replied without missing a beat, gathering the bloodied gauze and tossing it the nearby bin before tugging off your gloves in suit. "You'll need to take it easy for a few days. No heavy lifting, no bar brawls, no running headfirst into walls,” You paused, turning to your employer, Silco, "And work no jobs." You saw Silco narrow his gaze before nodding in agreement before you turned your head back at Sevika. "Understood?"

Her laugh was sharp, almost incredulous. "Take it easy? You do realize who you're talking to, right?"

She doesn't take orders from you, Silco has to say it himself.

You raised an eyebrow, unbothered. "I do. And I also know if you pop those stitches, you'll be right back here begging me to patch you up again. And I don't like beggars." You spoke in a lightly mocking tone.

Sevika started to retort, but Silco cut her off. "Sevika." His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of finality. "You'll do as they say. You're no good to me half-dead."

For a moment, Sevika looked like she might argue, but she thought better of it. Instead, she leaned back in the chair with a huff, the cushion collapsing behind her. She muttered something under her breath about "soft hands" and "too many rules."

Silco turned his attention to you, his mismatched eyes narrowing slightly as he studied you.

You straightened, feeling his gaze like a weight on your shoulders. "I know how to keep people alive." You did not turn around, instead keeping your eyes transfixed on Sevika, looking for any hints of discomfort.

"And that, it seems, is worth more than I gave it credit for," he replied, his tone softening just slightly. "Zaun needs fighters, yes. But it also needs people who can mend what others break."

Sevika snorted, crossing her arms. "You're lucky, y'know," she said, nodding toward you. "Most people like you wouldn't last a day down here. Seems you got the skill to.”

You didn't reply, instead focusing on cleaning your tools. You weren't one to bask in attention, at least of all from the likes of Sevika or Silco. Still, her words lingered in the air, carrying an odd mix of grudging respect and curiosity.

"I'd rather keep it that way."

Her huff was faint, hesitant. “Thanks... doc.” You weren't the bruiser, the muscle, or the enforcer. But you were something else, something Zaun desperately needed. And Silco knew it. That's why he kept you close.

ˢᵉᵛᵉⁿ

[revelisms]

Excerpt: Smokescreens

Jinx reminisces. Sevika and Dustin stage a ploy.

From ‘fate is a sundress, ripped at the thigh,’ a oneshot exploring Jinx’s relationship to Sevika and Singed in the aftermath of S1. Full story on AO3 CW: Mentioned character death, grief

The mornings are long and sleepless and screeching.

The nights are worse.

Sevika pits herself between them, holing up in his office like a squatter in a stripped room. Afternoon sun smolders green through the panes, leaves the dust on the air glinting like firelights. 

She hand-rolls her spliffs, the way a medic rolls up gauze—sharp, swift, routine—and smokes them in slow, hissing puffs. 

On his desk, a new edict.

Fishbones had bludgeoned Piltover's trade at the knees. For three months, their sister-city (sister missed her chose the damned bluecoat over her) had been groveling for scraps, fighting to rebuild from the ground-up, while foreign imports withdrew at the snap of a finger.

No one wanted to invest in a volatile market—except those already out for war. The cowards were keeping their mouths shut and their heads down. The smart ones were already aiming at the Pilt: watching, waiting for the pin the drop.

Piltover—or Zaun?

Sevika was gone days and nights and hours and weeks and never here, never rifling through the right paperwork or stringing a map with blood-threaded schemes or flicking open a newspaper with lazy tosses of her knee, musing up to the rafters: What do you make of this wretched trade war? Too many ironies in it. Freider's toting oil as a saving grace—and driving his machinery straight into the fires. He's sooner to win himself a bloody barbecue. Fool should've gone into the meat business.

Silco would've had that pretty Medardan councillor by the neck, by now.

Silco would've had Noxus in the palm of his hand: stricken deals with Swain and the War-chief both, spun them up to be at each others' throats, with profits already lining his pockets.

Silco would've been Topside in a suit and glinting glasses and a ledger of policywork under his arm, bending the Council's ear towards an investment of seventy-thousand worth, to fund proper schools on the Promenade. 

Silco would've—

The door creaks open, wheezes shut with the throb of industrial drumming downstairs and the sauntering gait of crooked-toothed Dusty-head, boots clomp-clud-clomping off the creaking floor.

"You're late," Sevika gruffs, fingers pitted at her temple.

Dustin ducks, half-apologetic. "Hemmie got tied up with somethin'. You know how he is, heh."

"Two of you are supposed to be Lock and Key. Not Lock and a Door-jam." 

The door-jam in question snaps his head to the side, like a bird twisting its neck. "Hey, hey—"

Papers splay flat over his desk. With it, a metal hand. "Just tell me what you've got, Don." 

Dustin fidgets. His breath rattles out in a gusty sigh. "Trainband's on the rise, again. Without Bos—" He catches himself. Sevika's eyes lay heavily, unwavering. "Without'im around," Dustin corrects, "they're all gettin' antsy."

"That's what we've got Muka for."

"Only infiltrated the first rung."

Jinx could clean them out, in a day. Play it nice, hide Chompers and her chompy lil' crew under her clothes, set the belly of that rebel gang's hideout to a pretty blast.

Silco would've let her.

Silco would've let her—

These are petty matters, child. We've tiers to this business, for a reason. There are greater uses of your time.

By coincidence, or intention, those conversations would always bookend his injections.

She'd wondered how often he'd pushed off his doses, just to let it them mean something else. To be something else, in it all.

Your worth here isn't defined by the blood you've spilt. And he'd hold her shaking hand in his steady own, cool and rough and anchoring, frowning at her with those mismatched eyes, and rest his thumb on her knuckles. There are other ways you can help us.

He'd lay his injector in her palm, like a talisman.

It meant, I trust you with this.

It meant, You can do this. Any of this. All of it.

It meant, You are not defined by your destruction.

The injector was in his desk. Top drawer to the right, with a file of the doctor's reports that he refused to looked through, that detailed how quickly he was dying, how much of a patchwork of reconstructed blood cells and chem-altered tissue and rotted flesh he needed to be to keep his body still functioning.

Jinx carves her nails into her temples.

He would have wanted it to be you.

Dustin slips a river-pebble out from his pocket, spins it between his painted fingers.

"We got one of their guards to spill," he says, low and sly. "Second-up's Eva. Should be goddamn Evie, down here—but naw—Ee-va. Scarf for a Piltie, if I've ever caught a whiff of 'em."

"Where?"

"Eighth quadrant, down by the steel mills."

"You think they've got a safe house there?"

"S'likely."

Sevika plucks out her spliff, pinches it lazily. "You've got two days."

"Bossman would've gave us three."

The smoke's cherry glows magmatic. Jinx stares hard, hard at a scuff of paint on her boot. The colors blur and swirl and fade. "He's not here, Dus."

He shifts his shoulder, chipped nails flicking. "Wouldn't have let you smoke that shit in here, neither."

Rage ebbs off Sevika's bones, stinks the room up like a chemical leak, like a tigress that just got a kill ripped out from under her. "Get out."

"I didn't—"

"Get. Out."

Dustin marches out quick as his studded boots will let him, scowling all the way, and slams the door behind him.

In the void, Sevika kneads her thumb into her brow. 

Her anger still sits in the room—still reeks like that cheap tobacco cut up with hashish, that's staining the floors and the windows and isn't juniper, isn't right, isn't his—and Jinx tries to blink it out, breathe it out, tears in her eyes and He hated being called that he hated it he hated it—

"Jinx."

She sucks air in through her nose, carefully quiet.

She knows the ogre's staring up at her. Can feel her eyes like knives, a million of them, all biting their little points into her skin.

She turns away from them. "I'm fine."

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 14

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: The Children devise a temporary plan as Enforcers stalk the Lanes after the botched robbery. Katya and Sevika teach the revolutionaries some basic first aid. Enyd's motherly instincts kick into overdrive. And act on it.

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.3K

Wednesday evening came and Katya filled the pockets within her father’s coat with rolls of bandages, tubes of ointment, and vials of medicine. Unbeknownst to the haughty, Piltie medical staff assisting at the mines, she was carefully pilfering the gross abundance of supplies they had brought with them.

 A bottle of painkillers here, a spool of surgical thread there.

In the afternoon on Monday, when the medical aid from Piltover finally showed up, Silco sneaked into the small curtained-off section in triage where Katya was setting an unconscious miner’s leg. He expected her to jump at his surprise appearance, but she remained attentive and focused on her task, only giving him a quick flick of her eyes as an acknowledgement.

“The Topsiders are here,” he had whispered.

“I know,” she replied. “I’ve already heard them grumbling about assisting in the rescue efforts.”

“They are currently bringing in their first shipment of medical equipment and supplies.”

Katya’s fingers stilled for a brief second in setting the splint.

“First?”

Silco nodded, the corners of his lips tilting in that tiny smirk he frequently wore.

“If I start occasionally sending Brothers and Sisters to you for minor medical assistance, do you think you could hand off supplies to them?”

Katya wrapped the miner’s leg in a length of gauze, stabilizing the splints, and secured it with tape.

“I do not know any of the others,” she said, finally looking at him. “How will I know if they are one of us?”

“We’ll use a secret word.”

As the day progressed, and as the doctors and nurses from Piltover – and their bountiful supplies – settled in, more miners were unearthed. Most alive, some inevitably dead or close to it. Most of the clinic’s focus was on aiding the survivors; but some was given to those workers who got dinged up during the excavation. Clocked on the head by a rock or beam, pulled muscles from loading rubble into carts, cuts from being careless with equipment.

Katya made a point to be the staff member who aided these people. If she heard them murmur ‘Zaun,’ she’d hand them a small, random assortment of goods.

A couple times, she was hesitant to pass items off. One instance, the girl seemed too young, knobby-kneed, and button-nosed. But she looked fierce and determined, so Katya slipped her a couple vials of tranquilizers. The second time, a young man who looked to be about the same age as her, sauntered into her make-shift exam room and leaned against the table. He looked hungrily at her, and when she went to examine the wrist he said he had hurt, he leaned in too close and whispered the secret word in a low, husky breath. She deemed his wrist to be fine, and sent him along with a box of bandages. She decided it would not be right to deny other Brothers and Sisters because one happened to behave sleazily. It carried on like this Tuesday and Wednesday, Katya stowing away her own stash to bring to The Last Drop, and for her clients, as well.

Once her coat was sufficiently packed, Enyd’s empty bag crossed over her shoulder, she locked her home and headed toward Sevika’s. Her friend and her family lived in a too-small apartment a few streets down from the heart of one of the Undercity’s major marketplaces. Katya slid around the outskirts of the stalls and tents, occasionally dipping through a narrow alley between vendors when an Enforcer appeared on her path.

She turned right at a wide-mouthed lane, followed the winding street away from the pulse and flicker of the marketplace, and came to a stop in front of a tall apartment building. It leaned so heavily into the canyon of the street that metal beams had been drilled and soldered into its across-the-street neighbor to keep it propped up.

Katya stepped under the portico and skimmed the directory before pressing the call button for Sevika’s unit. The outgoing drone was quickly cut off by the line being picked up.

“I’ll be out in a sec!” Sevika hurriedly promised. Behind her voice, Katya could hear the distinct whining and griping of her little brother. Before she could understand what the child was on about, the call was cut.

She stepped back into the lane, worrying the loose thread in her pocket. True to her word, Sevika appeared quickly; noisily running down the stairs and bursting through the door. Her silver eyes glimmered with annoyance; thick upper lip stuck in a curled sneer.

“Everything alright?” Katya asked.

Before her friend could answer, a small, piercing voice shot down from on high.

“Sevika!”

She growled and turned her head up. Katya followed her gaze and the voice up the face of the building to a window that was pushed open. A small boy with a mop of straight black hair and deep russet skin was hanging out halfway.

“I wanna come!” he cried.

“Go back inside, Lu!” Sevika yelled back. “You’re not coming with! Saraph will be home with the twins in thirty minutes!”

“Please!”

“NO!”

Lu huffed and scowled. “You’re the worst!”

“Right back at’cha, you little turd!”

He stuck out his tongue and blew a very wet raspberry in Sevika’s direction. He then ducked back into the apartment and slammed the window shut.

“Little fucking menace,” she hissed under her breath.

“He’s a child, ‘Vika,” Katya admonished.

“He’s a brat.”

It was the medic’s turn to scoff, “He is – what? – eight? He’s a dítê.”

Sevika rolled her eyes and began stalking down the lane, Katya at her heel. They walked in silence until the younger sighed, and asked, “What did you want to teach the Brothers and Sisters tonight?”

Per Benzo’s idea, Katya had approached her friend Monday afternoon to ask if she would consider helping her teach the other revolutionaries how do administer basic first aid. Sevika had enthusiastically agreed, a wide, white smile splitting her coal-streaked face in half.

“I was thinking it would be best to keep it simple,” Katya replied in a hushed voice. “How to wrap and bandage wounds.”

Sevika nodded, “Simple enough.”

Just as with the previous Wednesday, the pair rounded the back of the tavern and performed the intricate knock. After a moment, Silco opened the door. He appeared stiff and agitated.

“You’re early,” he commented as they slipped inside. He eyed the bag over Katya’s shoulder, squinting in confusion. “Is that? – “

“Your mother’s bag, yes,” she answered. “I did not know when I might see her again. Can you return it?”

Silco sighed and mumbled, “She’s here. You can give it to her yourself, if you’d like.”

“Your mom’s here?” Sevika asked, disbelieving. “Like, for the meeting?”

“Yes,” he answered tightly, “for the meeting. She wants to know what’s going on.”

“That’s great!” she chirped. “Maybe she can encourage older Trenchers to join us!”

Katya watched the man’s face pinch and she said, “Do not saddle his mother with such a big expectation, ‘Vika.”

The trio entered the large stockroom. Crates had already been butted up against the walls, and a small number of people had already arrived. Enyd sat at the back of the room, stitching the hole in a shirt. Vander and Mek stood near the front of the room, both of their hulking frames leaned over a stack of crates as they quietly spoke. The augmenteer had a stubby pencil in his hand and he scribbled over a scrap of paper. Benzo was propped up in a ratty wingback chair, his injured leg held up by a small box. He still looked a little sallow and tired, but Katya noted that his eyes were not nearly as fever-fogged as when she had last seen him.

“Sevika, can you go ask Benzo if we can use him for our lesson? I want to go put these supplies away.”

“Uh, yeah. Sure,” she responded, leaving Katya and Silco’s sides.

“You have supplies?”

She nodded. “In my coat.”

When his eyebrows dipped, she opened one half of her coat and opened one of the secret pockets she’d sewn into the seams. She reached in and produced a small bottle of painkillers. Silco’s eyebrows and the corners of his mouth lifted, and an amused breath puffed through his lips.

“Very innovative,” he praised.

He walked with her to the corner of the stock room where she and Vander had stashed her first offering of supplies the week before. Watching Katya pull vial after vial, bandage after bandage, syringe after syringe from her coat, Silco was reminded of hearing about something called a ‘circus.’

When he was little, there had been flyers stuck to the lamp posts on the Promenade advertising for the event. It would take place in the heart of the Golden City, so of course he and his mother could not go; but the images of exotic animals, colorful tents, and people with painted faces had intrigued him. He battered anyone he could with questions about it. What was a circus? What happened there? What did the animals do? Who were the painted people?

He had finally found some answers in a wizened miner who was working the same tunnel as him and his mother. He claimed that he snuck into a circus in his youth, and regaled Silco with descriptions of acrobats and giant wild cats leaping through rings of fire. There had also been people called magicians – not mages – who performed sleight of hand and magic tricks that enthralled the audience; pulling a whump out of a hat and strings of handkerchiefs out of their mouths. The people with the painted faces were called clowns, and they performed silly skits. Apparently, one skit involved over ten clowns emerging from a comically small carriage. The old Trencher recalled that after the fourth clown appeared from the tiny vehicle, the audience began to gasp and laugh in increasing disbelief and joy as more and more performers tumbled out onto the dirt arena.

Watching Katya pull several medical supplies from her unassuming coat, he thought her a little bit magical and mischievous. He’d never been to a circus, nor seen magicians nor clowns, but he thought the delight and wonder with which he watched her had to be similar to that of the old miner.

“What?” she asked, wedging rolls of bandages between bottles of ale. She felt her cheeks pinch pink and her lips pulled into a self-conscious smile.

“I’m just,” Silco began, his mind racing to explain why he had been staring at her, “glad that you decided to help us. We’ll be much better off with your access and expertise.”

Katya was grateful that the blush she felt creeping under her skin stayed mostly to her neck, which was hidden by the collar of her coat. Once the last of the stolen goods was hidden away, they made to stand and she unslung the bag from her shoulders.

“I need to give this back to your mother.”

While putting the supplies in there hiding spot, the stockroom had filled more. Katya craned her neck over the incoming crowd and spied the woman on the stack of crates with her needlepoint. Her lips were in a tight, amused line and her blue eyes flicked up as she felt the other’s on her. Gently weaving through the meandering bodies, she and Silco made their way to her.

“Hello, Katya,” Enyd greeted, setting her sewing in her lap.

“I wanted to return your bag,” she said quietly, clumsily folding the canvas sack and handing it to her.

“Oh, thank you, dear. Where you able to find a use for those trinkets?” Enyd asked, taking the bag, and stowing it under her sewing.

Silco’s eyebrow cocked at the question. Before he could inquire, Katya answered.

“Yes, I took them to Benzo’s, and Cairn was able to give me coin for them – “

“Wonderful!”

“H-he gave me quite a lot,” Katya said in a hurried and hushed voice. “I don’t feel right not giving you any in return.”

Enyd’s jaw set and she took the young woman by her upper arm.

“Katya,” she said firmly. “It was not strictly a favor. I am paying for your services. Yes? How much would that medicine cost otherwise?”

Katya’s voice caught in her throat; her mouth opening and closing mutely until words came.

“I – I am not sure. The mine gets the product at cost because of buying in bulk – “

Enyd chuckled and gently shook her arm, “It’s alright, Katya. You are helping us,” she glanced up at her son, “let us be there for you.”

Just as when the older woman had presented her with the bag of treasures, Katya’s throat squeezed and her heart clenched.

“I’m sorry,” Silco broke in, “what are you referring to?”

“Alrigh’ let’s get this gatherin’ goin’!” Vander yelled over the crowd, clapping his hands, and walking over to the designated front of the room. The chatter of the crowd died down and heads swiveled towards the barkeep.

Vander’s eyes found Silco in the crowd and he jerked his chin, beckoning his friend to join him. Giving his mother and Katya one last look, he left their sides and strode to the front of the room.

“Now, all o’ yas probably know that we did not get th’shipment last weekend,” Vander began, his tone apologetic but firm enough to insinuate that commentary was not wanted. Regardless, a discontented murmur slithered through the crowd.

Vander’s jaw ground side to side, his eyes skirting over scared and agitated faces. At the back of the room, he spied Katya standing next to Enyd. He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth and stood taller.

“The plan fallin’ apart is on me, Sil, n’ ‘Zo,” he added. Beside him, Silco’s face briefly twisted before dropping back into something aloof. He folded his arms across his chest as Vander continued.

“We shoulda planned better n’ made our instructions clearer ‘fore headin’ out on th’job,” he said, settling large, bruised hands on his hips. “We’ll do better next time – “

“When will next time be?” a voice called out.

Heads swiveled in the direction of the question, and Katya’s nose wrinkled to see that it was the same Brother that had whispered the secret word too close and too wet into her ear earlier in the week.

Annoyingly, but not entirely unfairly, questioning murmurs ghosted through the crowd as the Brothers and Sisters looked back to Vander, Silco, and Benzo.

“There haven’ been no other reports of artillery shipments comin’ in,” Vander answered. “An’ even when they do start deliverin’ again, security may be beefed up.”

“What we need are more numbers,” Silco broke in. “We can use this blunder to our advantage.”

Vander looked over to his Brother. The crowd leaned in, interested as to what he meant.

“LeDaird has ordered more Enforcer presence in the Lanes since Saturday. The brutes are questioning and intimidating anyone and everyone in their path. We can use this injustice to persuade more Fissure Folk into our fold. This setback can be a means to bolster the Children of Zaun’s numbers.”

The bodies in the room shifted in tentative excitement, wondering hums and looks exchanged between neighbors. Next to her, Katya felt Enyd tense, her breath hitching. It caught in a wheeze at the back of her throat, and the older woman brought up the back of her forearm to muffle the sound of the cough. Katya reached for the glass of water at her side and Enyd met her hand halfway, gratefully taking it. Her blue eyes crinkled in silent thanks as she lifted the drink to her mouth.

“That’ll be th’focus fer now,” Vander agreed. “Get more people t’join the cause. Topside may have means, but we have the numbers.”

Stronger sounds of affirmation jostled through the room and Vander looked pleased. He grinned and looked to Silco. The other’s lips hooked up briefly, but despite it having been his idea disappointment rippled under his skin.

“Now,” Vander called again, cueing the crowd to quiet, “not gettin’ th’weapons wasn’ the only thing that went wrong last Saturday.” He gestured over to where Benzo sat propped up, “’Zo got shot.”

Benzo jokingly waved and flourished toward his bandaged leg.

“Luckily, one o’ our newest Sisters was able to patch him up,” Vander continued, bright silver eyes honing in on Katya. “An’ she n’ Sev have agreed t’take us through some patchin’ n’ healin’ basics. Katya?”

Katya felt her cheeks heat up as heads swiveled in her direction.

“Give me your coat, dear,” Enyd murmured, already gently peeling it from her shoulders.

Katya allowed her and made her way toward Benzo. A low, wheezy whistle blew through the bodies, followed by stifled giggles and groans. Unsurprisingly, it was the troublesome young miner. His friends sniggered around him, while Katya frowned and rolled her eyes. She made a point to stand taller and drew her shoulders back.

Vander and Silco stepped into the audience, allowing the room’s attention to fall on Benzo and the two women flanking his chair. While the barkeep stepped only a few people deep into the crowd, Silco slithered a little farther in, skirting the edges.

“You’re alright to do this?” Katya asked Benzo in a hushed voice.

He smiled, nodding, and gave her a thumbs-up.  An appreciative look came over her face and she tenderly placed a hand on his lifted shin. She looked to Sevika. The teen was vibrating, excited to help lead something; to be looked at for guidance and information. She grinned broadly, her round cheeks colored coral.

Finally, Katya faced the gathering fully and took a deep breath.

“Hello Nurse!” the cat-caller cried, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify what he clearly thought was a clever jape.

The group around him cackled loudly, and Katya sorely wished she still had her coat. She would’ve whipped out her father’s revolver and shot the ground at the asshole’s feet. Her teeth squeaked between the squeezing of her upper and lower jaw, willing some sort of snappy retort to arrive on her tongue.

 Suddenly, there was a loud, splintering THWACK! The miner’s laugh was cut short and he jumped as a knife blade appeared between his fingers, expertly threading the gap between them, and puncturing the wooden crate beneath. The hilt was in Silco’s white knuckle grip and he stared down at the instigator.

Daggers in his icy eyes, as well as his hand.

The group that had been laughing with their friend began to rustle agitatedly; clearly wanting to stick up for their peer, but uncertain if they should mess with one of the revolution’s founding members. The air was sucked out of the room as the rest of the crowd tensed. Enyd had bolted out of her seat, clutching Katya’s coat against her chest. Her eyes were wide with fear and disbelief. Once again – for a split second – she didn’t recognize her boy. The flash in his eyes; the twisted scowl on his face. But she restrained herself from interfering. If she wanted access to his world, she needed to adapt and let him be the leader. Her jaw cramped and her heart thundered. A gross tickle built in the back of her throat, and she choked back the phlegm climbing her trachea.

Finally, the cat-caller scoffed, “It’s just a joke, mate.”

“Your commentary is unimaginative, unnecessary, and unwelcome,” Silco snapped back.

“Shut the fuck up, Kells,” Sevika added, puffing her shoulders, and glowering at the man beneath Silco’s blade.

Kells huffed and slumped back into his seat. Silco unstuck the blade’s tip before tucking it back in his shirtsleeve. Katya watched, her cheeks sucked against her teeth in overwhelm. She looked at Kells, who sat like a toddler – arms crossed and avoiding her gaze – and then to Silco. He gave the smallest of nods to encourage her to continue. She swallowed her crossness down, along with a sweet swell of gratitude and began the lesson.

“Tonight, Sevika and I will show you how to treat and dress an open wound that does not need sutures – “

“What’s sutures?” came a loud, young voice from within the group.

The interruption through her off, but the bright genuineness of the question caused her to grin.

“Sutures is another term for stitches.”

“What if the cut needs su-chus?” came another voice.

“Pipe down!” Vander cried over the heads of the revolutionaries.

“We will get to that a different time,” Katya said. “For now, let us keep things simple, yes?”

She stepped to the side and allowed Sevika to kneel behind Benzo’s extended leg, dictating the steps as her friend completed them. For the most part, the presentation was quiet, save for the intermittent murmurs and hums of understanding and awe.

“Now, obviously, we are just redressing Benzo’s wound here,” Katya explained. “If and when you need to assist another or yourself, chances are likely that it will be . . . messier. Once you and the injured person are in a safe space, you’ll remove any clothing that may be in the way.”

Sevika plucked at the fraying edge of Benzo’s cut pantleg pointedly.

“An’ be certain to bring any bloody clothes with ya,” Vander interjected, “or burn ‘em. We don’ want’a leave a trail fer Enforcers t’follow. Yeah?”

“Vander is correct,” Katya agreed, her stomach jolting. She hadn’t thought of that piece. Of Enforcers using bloody clothing and trails to sniff out the Children. She was grateful for his attention to that detail.

“But before you do away with any piece of cloth, make sure that there are no scraps or threads stuck in the wound. Leaving foreign objects in the body could lead to infection. Before I could stitch Benzo up or dress his wound, I needed to fish out a piece of his trousers that the bullet took in with it.”

“Hurt like a mother fucker, too,” Benzo added with a shudder.

“Yes, it is not pleasant. But developing sepsis is even worse – “

“What’s sepsis?”

Another rogue question from a small voice.

“Sepsis is the body’s extreme reaction to an infection,” Sevika answered. “It causes your organs to malfunction, and shut down if not treated.”

Katya’s chest swelled with pride as her young friend took a more active role in the demonstration. She was pleased that ‘Vika had retained so much from their time together.

“Speaking of,” the medic continued, “this is a particular challenge in the Undercity, but when you go to clean or dress a wound – fresh or no – do so with as clean of hands and tools as possible.”

Muted scoffs and muttered exasperations prickled in the air. Heads shook and eyes rolled.

“I know, I know. Just . . . do the best that you can under the circumstances. Now, once the injured party is in a safe location and you are certain there are no foreign bodies in the wound, you will want to gently clean the area with water and a clean cloth.”

Sevika made a show of dutifully and delicately wiping down Benzo’s leg around the healing wound.

“Didn’ know ya had such a soft touch, Sev,” Benzo joked.

“You should talk to your mother more then!” Sevika snapped back.

The group snorted and giggled. Vander and Silco went about trying shush them, and Katya closed her eyes, her hands finding a home on her hips.

Children indeed.

The laughter simmered quickly under her, Vander, and Silco’s unamused looks, and she was able to continue.

“Once the area is clean enough, take a piece of cloth or gauze, place it over the wound and apply direct pressure.”

Sevika took up a square swatch of gauze and draped it over the line of stitches, before lifting to her knees, placing a large hand on Benzo’s thigh and pressing down. He yelped and hissed, and a shit-eating grin curled her lips.

“It will hurt,” Katya confirmed. “As should a tourniquet, if it is necessary.” She paused. “We will discuss tourniquets next, perhaps.

“Once it seems like the blood is clotting, take a long strip of fabric or gauze, or whatever you have available, and wrap the body part.”

Sevika unrolled a length of gauze and wound it around Benzo’s meaty thigh, mindfully overlaying the strips as she went.

“Don’t make it too tight,” she said, tucking the end of the cloth into the pleats of the bandage.

Katya nodded and finished, “The wound will need to be cleaned every day. We will have anti-biotic ointment and burn cream in our stores. Not many, though, so we will have to administer them on a triage basis.”

Silence stretched through the store room and Katya nervously shifted from one foot to the other.

“Are . . . there any questions?”

There were murmurs at first, and then like a wave coming to shore, a swell of questioning voices crashed over Katya and Sevika.

“What if a limb needs to be amputated?”

“What’s triage?”

“Is it true that if you soak in mineral water, it’s good for a cut?”

“I have a cut. Can you take a look at it?”

“How long does it take something like that to heal?”

“What are we supposed to do if someone’s guts get blown outta their body? What’s that called?”

Katya put her hands on her hips again and sighed.

“That is called evisceration,” she said heavily. “Hopefully it is something we will never have to deal with – “

“But have you seen it?” a young, wide-eyed teen asked.

“I have,” she answered. The youth in the crowd ‘oo-ed’ and ‘ah-ed’.

“Like I said, hopefully it is something we are spared.”

Katya’s heart pattered and her tongue felt fizzy as she added, “Hopefully we are free before something like that can happen.”

Her gaze found Vander and Silco’s in the crowd, and she smiled at their hopeful expressions of pride. The rest of the questions were shared between her and Sevika. Benzo even answered a few of his own. Namely “Did it hurt?” and “Did you cry?”

The meeting slowly petered out, the Children having instructions to lay low and scope out potential recruits.

Before leaving Benzo’s side, Katya rechecked his wound and its wrappings.

“How have you been feeling?”

“A little better each day. Fever’s gone down, I think.”

She held the back of her hand to his forehead, and then his cheeks.

“It seems so,” Katya agreed. “You’ve been eating and drinking, yes?”

“Yeah, Van’s keepin’ me well-fed and watered – “

“Actually water, right?” she sternly asked. “Not beer.”

“No beer – “

“Or hard liquor.”

Benzo rolled his eyes. “Aye. He’s been followin’ your pain-in-the-ass-no-fun instructions t’the letter.”

“Not fer a lack of tryin’ to misbehave,” Vander chuckled, appearing at Katya’s side. “Caught ‘im tryin’ to hobble his way to the bar one morning.”

“Walking on it may not be a bad idea at this point,” Katya mused. “To maintain strength in your leg before the muscles can atrophy any further.”

“Oi, Van.”

Mek had trundled up to their small group, the paper he had been scribbling on earlier clenched in his large hands.

“I should have your things ready by the end of this week. We got plenty o’ scraps in the back.” He looked the Katya and continued, “Your brother’s brace should be ready by Friday, by the way.”

She nodded, still not use to the various contexts of her life intermingling in one place. Her mind raced, trying to recall how much coin was left from her clients; then she remembered the surplus of money Cairn had given her and her worry eased.

Mek bid them good night and shuffled off.

“If the walking goes well,” Katya said, rising to her feet and brushing the dust from her knees, “you should be able to return to your shop soon.”

Benzo chuckled. “Yeah, don’ want Cairn over payin’ for anymore items.”

Despite his playful wink, Katya’s stomach dropped.

“He’s jus’ pullin’ yer leg,” Vander said kindly, knocking an elbow against her side. “Cairn came by t’give ‘em an update on shop happenings. Mentioned ya stopped by.”

Discomforting relief coated Katya’s bones. She forced a grin and said, “Right. I should be heading home.”

“I’ll walk with you!” Sevika offered.

“Yes, thank you, ‘Vika,” Katya said. Her fingers went to worry the thread in her coat pocket before realizing she wasn’t wearing it.

“I need to get my coat. Give me a moment.”

She weaved through the mingling bodies to the back of the room. She spied Kells as she went, skulking out of the basement with his group of friends. His dark brown eyes briefly flicked to her and his nostrils flared before he disappeared into the hallway. Unease crawled under her skin like cave lice skittering up rock. She shook it off and continued toward Enyd’s perch at the back.

Silco was at her side, the two quietly discussing something. The woman’s face seemed sterner than at the start of the meeting, and Silco’s own expression was tight. Katya was certain she was reprimanding him for nearly skewering Kells’ hand. She felt awkward about inserting herself, but she was not going to leave her father’s coat behind.

Silco noticed her first. He stood to his full height and his face softened. Enyd gawped for a moment until she also saw the young medic approach.

“Thank you for doing that,” Silco said. His eyes flicked around the room before adding, “I’m sorry some of our recruits are not as respectful as they should be.”

Katya’s mouth quirked and she shrugged.

“The Undercity needs as many supporters as possible. Beggars cannot be choosers. Not all the Brothers and Sisters will be couth – “

“The ability to respect someone is not exclusive to those of us with manners,” Silco countered. “He won’t interrupt you again.”

Warmth spread through the medic’s cheeks and she hoped the flush was minimal.

“Well,” she stammered, “thank you for your help with the presentation then.”

“Katya,” Enyd said, gently handing over her father’s coat. “I received a large bushel of produce as payment from one of my tailoring clients. Silco and I cannot possibly eat it all before it turns. Would you join us for supper tomorrow?”

Both Silco and Katya stilled at her offer. Blindly, not taking her eyes from the older woman’s face, the she reached for her coat and hugged it against her chest.

“I wouldn’t want to impose – “

“Nonsense,” Enyd scoffed, her hand flicking through the air as if to brush the concern away. “If it was an issue, I wouldn’t have offered.”

“I – I will not have been able to clean up after work. I do not want to come to your home filthy.”

“My dear. I live with my son, who is a manual laborer in the mines. I am unperturbed by most mess.”

“Mum – “

“I insist,” Enyd implored.

A grin Katya did not mean to let loose curled her lips. She looked gratefully to Enyd and then curiously to her son. Only for a moment was Silco lost for words.

“Yes, come for dinner,” he finally said.

A strange cheerfulness coated Katya’s insides and she agreed. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves of her coat, Enyd gave their address and the time she should stop by.

She bid them good night as Sevika appeared at her side. The pair left the stockroom, and mother and son watched them go; Silco’s eyes lingering after they had disappeared through the doorway.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled and he turned to see his mother regarding him. She looked smug for reasons he couldn’t understand.

“What?” he demanded.

“It’s nothing.”

Notes: Thank you so much for reading! Again, if you are enjoying this story so far, please drop a comment and reblog!! Also, just message me if you're interested in being added to the tag list, so you don't miss out on future chapters or anything else CoZ related.

Coming Up Next: The Council convenes to address Rynweaver and other donor's concerns about the Academy's scholarship program. Katya has dinner with Silco and Enyd. Can it be called a date if your mother instigated it and she's there??

Next chapter

Taglist: @dreamyonahill @pinkrose1422 @altered-delta

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

...so. are you a doctor or a "doctor"? i still quite didn't get that down. like, is that your hobby or did ya actually get a license to do all that?

═══ UNPROMPTED INTERACTIONS ═══ LEAGUE VERSE

The mage is loathe to admit the bolt of fury that passes through him at the suggestion that his work was all some silly hobby, as if he hadn't poured his entire life into it, as if he hadn't spent long nights in the academy straining his eyes and wondering if his siblings had fallen asleep yet. How all of his years of training could not save them or revive them back from their graves. Robin finds himself tense, thankful that his back is facing the executioner as he fears his eyes alone would curse the man with foul nightmares, demons, and the worst things the world could offer. To insinuate all he did was a hobby-- if he had the strength within his jaw surely his teeth would be broken with how tightly he's pressing them together.

Relax, boy. Your anger will not aid you in any way, you forget how you are now --- your time in this place has blindsided you, has it not?

Color slowly returns to his knuckles as he exhales the bitter air within his lungs, the air that wishes to be filled with anger and vitriol, but only sounds akin to a light hiss. He wants to scream. The mage allows his gaze to stay low towards the various medical tools infront of him, focusing on the thread which slid through one of the needles before him. What a horrific thing, to be so far removed from the past that now it was nearly impossible to imagine him actually being apart of it. It wasn't as though he could simply tell Draven who he was either, what if he did research into it and found out all of the terrors the mage had done for money, survival and out of sheer curiosity?

No...No.

"I..I am a doctor, I trained as one within Piltover Academy for 5 years before I continued my studies elsewhere within Zaun in order to..." Help? No. He did not help anyone, not how he had wanted....not when he was so gripped by grief and misery. But alas, that did not much matter now, did it, "I also was there for your country's invasion of Ionia... I healed many injured and sick, and buried countless bodies."

Ah yes, he was once again reminded about how viciously he hated Noxus, how if he could he would slide a knife across the Grand General's throat or deliver his head to the Order of Shadows. Just to make that man feel the same agony he'd inflicted onto so many others--

Temper, boy.

"But yes, I am a doctor and I intend to act as one while I am here. To insinuate otherwise would be quite an insult to me given how many of your own wounds I have stitched and healed. That would be the same as my asking you if your title of "executioner" is a fluffy gift or if you have actually earned it. If I was not a doctor I would not disrespect the craft by labeling myself as one."

[bloodiedmedic]

🩺 Doctor AU For Alexis

Send one of the following emojis, and I will give you one idea (or more) for our muses to interact in this setting: Still accepting

Huh. This is surprisingly difficult because I don't like changing certain things about Alexis' backstory. Primarily them getting abducted. Sooo....

I guess maybe Irisa getting abducted by the people Alexis has to work for because they want money from Jack. Alexis doing their best to help Irisa stay "safe" while being held captive, and eventually both of them getting set free. Afterwards as thanks Irisa or Jack helps out Alexis by giving them money so they can go back and finish getting their licensing and all to work as a doctor. Alexis never quite feels "safe" again after everything so they end up becoming a traveling doctor, or offering their services to Irisa and/or Jack as a medical specialist... and then no doubt end up hating Jack, because Jack, but shhhh spoilers.

~~~

Unless you want to write Irisa as a doctor. In which case it'd... probably follow a similar thread as how things went in Zaun. Irisa meets down on their luck Alexis. Finds out Alexis can do medical care work at the level of a doctor and has the education. Irisa and Alexis end up working at the same place, but the story focuses on them rather than Irisa and Silco.

Sorry it's not more interesting but Alexis is basically already a doctor.

[zaunseye]

npc ʟɪsᴛ

These characters are used for scenes in which their narrative presence is needed. They are not fully fledged muses, and are only available for short-form 1v1 threads or in scenes accompanying Silco. Detailed headcanons for some may be present.

sɪɴɢᴇᴅ

tag :: 𓁿 the doctor is in ;; singed ic 𓁿 available for asks/headcanons :: yes icons :: sometimes

Long time ally of Silco, Singed is also known as 'The Mad Chemist' for his radical techniques and lacking ethics. He works for Silco as both a chemist and a doctor, preforming medical procedures as well as concocting potent drugs like shimmer. Silco trusts him, but is suspicious of his side projects.

sᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

tag :: 𓁿 the ogre lieutenant :: sevika ic 𓁿 available for asks/headcanons :: yes icons :: sometimes

The chem baron's most trusted workers, Sevika is the lieutenant of the underground movement. She does jobs for Silco that require muscle and command, usually leading smuggling operations and protection rackets. Silco greatly trusts her, viewing her as a worthy successor to Vander in her role by his side.

ᴅᴜsᴛɪɴ

tag :: 𓁿 sweet spit :: dustin ic 𓁿 available for asks/headcanons :: no icons :: no

One of Silco's inner circle, Dustin has been a member of Silco's gang since he was a child. He's mostly mute, speaking only in simple phrases and grunts, but he's excellent with a knife, and Silco gives him assassination and tracking work. Silco might not be a fan of his antics, but he still trusts Dustin with his life.

ᴍᴀʀᴄᴜs

tag :: 𓁿 sheriff of the eye :: marcus ic 𓁿 available for asks/headcanons :: no icons :: no

The sheriff in Silco's pocket, Marcus is tuck in too deep for his own good. He's been covering for Silco's crimes for nearly a decade, and despite his reservations, will do whatever it takes to keep their business on the down-low. Silco knows he has the sheriff by the short hairs, and has no qualms about using that to his advantage.

ᴛʜɪᴇʀᴀᴍ

tag :: 𓁿 chuck the barkeep ;; thieram ic 𓁿 available for asks/headcanons :: yes icons :: sometimes

Thieram has been with Silco's gang since his youth, originally working as an armed thug. However, due to an injury sustained in the cannery, he was taken off the front lines. When it was discovered that he could mix a mean cocktail, Silco put him behind the bar, instead. He worries and frets over his boss, always there to offer a drink.

ғɪɴɴ

tag :: 𓁿 fangs of zaun ;; finn ic 𓁿 available for asks/headcanons :: yes icons :: sometimes

The second most powerful Chem Baron under Silco, himself, Finn suffers no disrespect and ruthlessly pursues profits and power above loyalty. He is often described as "Zaun's Fangs", holding the majority of the guns as well as the poisons. He and Silco have a contentious relationship, with Silco seeing him as an insult to his father's legacy.

[movedtoferinehuntress]

☾ *  ――  ᴄᴀɪᴛʟʏɴ & ʙʀɪᴀʀ 「 @hemomania 」 ≣ Continued Thread = ❝ Briar deals with a hurt friend ❞

"Briar, It's okay," Caitlyn whispered, trying to ease the younger woman's look of confusion. She shifted up against the side of the wall, as she hissed in pain. The zaunite who attacked her was already dead, the blood staining the ground and her gun the sole tool that finished him off. The bullet ripped through his chest, leaving a bloody hole against his chest where his heart had been. He bleed out, quickly and his sounds no longer echoed in the air. A flinch came from her side, as she reached over to press her hand up against the wound near Briar's hand to help apply harder pressure.

The sad tone caused Caitlyn to turn and give her attention to Briar. A sordid irate tone on the tip of Briar's tongue caused Cait to smile softly. "You did just fine. I don't blame you, it's not your fault," Zaun's violence bled from the streets, with every corner holding a dangerous threat of its own. Caitlyn knew what she signed up for by being down here, helping those who needed it, and investigating incidents she was asked to. There was a cost and the brand upon her neck did not help matters either. It's why her hood usually stayed up, and the black ink of the tattoo trying to hide the scarred flesh carved into her neck.

A part of the young detective worried this would be too much for Briar, the way her blood seeped from the wound would no doubt entice the vampire-like woman. "Hey, Hey, Briar, look at me," Caitlyn said, trying to get her to focus as she looked up toward her and then asked her a question. It wasn't funny, and yet Caitlyn still chuckled a little and nodded. "It hurts, yes," Caitlyn leaned forward as she pulled her bag off her back and put it down. "We have to clean it, stitch it up, and bandage it; then I need to find somewhere to rest," Caitlyn didn't know if Briar knew how to do any of that, but she could help her feel useful if she felt guilty. That's the last thing Cait wanted, the detective didn't blame Briar for any of this, the hemogolem was not at fault.

Dark red stained her purple vest as she let go of her wound and tried to open the pack to get the on-site medical aid kit that had everything she needed. "Stay on guard, anyone will take advantage of this situation right now," She also informed her, knowing that a harmed animal was an easy kill; and if someone wanted to try and steal her weapons or the bounty on her head this would be a perfect time to do so.

[elisethetraveller]

Continued from; misstantabismuses

See link for old post as Tumblr glitches when I try to add it

Fury was not something that came easy to the pale mage. Her anger was a mellow thing, bubbling like a slow tide until it grew into a drowning force. However, that did not mean it wasn't resting beneath the surface, ready to breach once provoked. And Elise's patience only extended so far. The market was not a place of peace; nowhere in Zaun was, however, it was, or should've been, a place of safety. One of the few of its kind in Zaun, and sacred because of it.

It didn't help that the market was, besides the medical den, one of the spaces where the mage spent most of her time. The trading folk brought in stories from the rest of the world, and most were more than willing to talk with the healer when they had the time. She'd even established a few trading agreements of her own, exchanging the coin that came her way for herbs and remedies for the medical den. Not that Silco didn't keep the place well-stocked, but after a particular round of sickly months, the healer realized that the traders didn't always know the value of their wares, making acquiring them challenging. And while she was slowly sharing her knowledge with the volunteer nurses, none of them could yet boast the experience needed to examine an unknown plant for its medical properties.

Silver eyes glancing across the carnage, there was a bitter sense of relief to be found in the fact that this was at least the market and not the medical den. The sick and injured made for sorry targets, but if they were bold enough to attack Bridgewaltz Market… Gnawing at the inside of her cheek, there was a fleeting taste of iron before her magic healed the wound. Something old twisted and turned in her mind, considerations of war and fire and blood and screams and terror passing her mind's eye before she blinked, and they were gone. The market was symbolic. It was stability and trade but also an agreement managed under Silco's watching eye. Whoever these attackers were, they wanted to topple that. Or perhaps she was thinking about it too deeply, and they were just hooligans trying to make a statement and a name for themselves.

"They brought barrels." There was a cruel sense of luck to the fact she'd been here during the attack. "Though I didn't see what they did with them." No doubt it had been some kind of fuel. Something to stoke the fires so they burned quick and hot. The prickling smell of burnt canvas mixed with the scent of blood and guts.

Brow furrowing, Elise tried to remember what had happened. Epinephrine was a tricky bedfellow, and as crucial as it was in the moment, it clouded the memories afterwards. Picking at a loose thread in her sleeve, the white-haired woman sighed in frustration. They had rushed the square, though from where she hadn't seen. Above? Bellow? No… They had come from the alleys. They weren't firelights. The haphazardness of the attack alone spoke to that, but their masks had been different. A crude facsimile, perhaps. And their clothes more orange than green. The sore muscles in her abdomen flexed and twitched. A few shards of shrapnel had lodged themselves into the soft flesh, but they and the wound were long gone. All that was left were the hole and a patch of fabric dyed an eerie shade of crimson. She would mend it once she got home.

Attention returning to the matter at hand, Elise turned with Silco as Sevika approached. Moving closer as Silco was handed something, the mage looked on curiously as he examined the former explosive. Technology, chem-tech or otherwise, was not her forte, and it wasn't long before her attention slipped from the device to Silco himself, awaiting his conclusion.

"The liquid in the barrels was a different colour, more brown, so that's at least something. They're not carrying the chemical around in bulk." And if they were lucky, Jinx would be able to tell them more about the manufacturer. "I saved the shrapnel from everyone I have treated so far." Including what had been lodged in her own side. Holding out a leather pouch, she gestured for Silco to take it. "I imagine they filled the bombs with whatever was at hand, so maybe Jinx can discern something from that as well."

Looking back at the woman already limping away, it took a moment for the pale mage to match her recollections with her own experiences. "According to her, there were at least a dozen attackers, though I counted around eight." It was a natural response to assume that there were more attackers than present. "I suspect they were using the small explosives to mask their numbers on top of the general…" She gestured out to the corpses and limbs strewn about.

"After that, the details she could give were general at best; they were masked, had guns, and were loud. Mixed genders though they all sounded young." Though that was hardly a surprise. "She swore several of them had tattooed eyelids, however." It was the one helpful detail the woman had given, though the mage couldn't say how reliable it was. "Do you know any gangs with that as their identifying marker?"

( @misstantabismuses )

[revivedxfighter]

Birthday Blitz - Jack

@zauns-insane-secret​

The WRO Captain does not know much about the boy. She found him during a search through the remains of Midgar, a city that once held the world in its steel fist. Now Midgar lays in its dusty crypt where suspicion of monsters and outcasts lurk there. This time, the reports led to something, but it is not a monster or a criminal. He is a child, lost and scared. Harmony carries a small surprise that she bought on her way to WRO Headquarters where the boy is receiving treatment. 

A brisk walk through corridors and a lift in the elevators brought Harmony to the medcal wing. The staff did not give the Captain trouble in finding Jack’s room. They’re not used to handling pediatric patients, but the staff did what they could to make it as child-friendly as possible, just to help the scared boy be more comfortable. A couple pictures of baby animals hang on the white walls. The blanket once a plain shade of teal replaced by a blue blanket adorned with patches of stars in various shades of blues. A gift provided by the charge nurse who has grandchildren of her own and had a soft spot for Jack. Two balloons in the shape of gold stars float over the bedside table, weighted by a basket of small toys and a note to wish him well from the nursing team. 

Harmony smiles as she enters the room. “Hello. Did you sleep okay?” She approaches the bed, being careful not to scare the boy. She holds the gift behind her back. “I wanted to stop by and see how you are...And I want to give you something.” The Captain reveals the gift, which is something that she hopes will give Jack comfort. 

[alisha-on-arcane]

My completed Arcane fanfic, organised

You, who have nothing at all to believe in - Young Vander/ Silco from meeting to betrayal. Apparently pretty funny in places. This Young!Silco is sweet, feral and only approximately sane. 40k words, M rated, very shippy. Jinx Is Missing - six months after Silco’s takeover, Ekko and the Firelights capture Jinx. Silco is as reasonable about it as you’d expect. Sevika makes some medical decisions. 8k words, T rated, gen with slight timebomb. Right Hand Woman - Sevika’s point of view on the first month or so of Jinx. 3.8k words, T rated, gen. No, I Have Not Had Enough - immediate post-canon in Zaun, with Sevika and Jinx. 4.4k words, T rated, gen. Being A Short Correspondence Between Two Distinguished Scientists In The Year 974 AN - Heimerdinger & Singed exchange letters about Viktor. 480 words, general audiences, gen.  You Will Report To Me In Detail - sinister/funny/sad Vander / Silco sexy letters set in the episode 1 timeskip. 2.8k, M-rated. Needs and Wants Young Vander / Silco smut. 3.3k words, E. NTA Shortly after episode 3 and stung by criticism from Sevika, Silco posts on the reddit thread Am I The Asshole (AITA) to get an outside perspective. Lots of characters (mostly not tagged) chip in. Some of their responses say more about them than about the original poster. 1.1k, T-rated. I never thought you could love me like you used to Missing scene in episode 3, because we never thought Silco would give up trying to persuade Vander after one chat, did we? Or: when you meet your ex after a long time, and find old habits are hard to shake off. 1.8k, M rated. Stillwater Marriage series My favourite. Reconciliation AU in which Vander hands the reins to Silco on the way to prison, figuring it couldn’t go much worse. Silco deals with a slightly different set of challenges and they successfully navigate a reconciliation over the years. 70k words, separate chapters somewhat self-standing but as parts of a whole, written for Zaundads Bingo fan event but spread out after that, M and E rated. Perhaps We Were Friends, Before, In Zaun - Short fic thinking about Warwick being Vander and Silco in one body. 981 words, Gen, T rated.

[thescrybe]

Soraka, The Starchild

An age ago, when time itself was young, the inhabitants of the celestial realm regarded the fledgling races of Runeterra with growing concern.

These creatures deviated wildly, unpredictably, and dangerously from the great designs intended for them by those above. The guidance and fates that had been woven into the night sky often went unseen—or worse, were misinterpreted by their simple mortal minds, leading to chaos, uncertainty, and suffering.

No longer able to merely watch, one celestial being chose to descend to the mortal realm, determined to untangle the knots in the tapestry of the world. This child of the stars took on a form of flesh and blood, and though the powerful magic coursing through her veins burned this new body from the inside out, she knew her suffering meant little if she could help to heal all that was broken and incomplete.

And so Soraka came to be, and set upon her journey to soothe the mortals she encountered.

Even so, she quickly learned the capacity for cruelty that the peoples of Runeterra possessed. Whether on the battlefields of inescapable conflicts, in the seedy underbellies of sprawling cities, or on the frontiers of the untamed wilderness beyond them, there seemed to be no end to the fighting, betrayal, and suffering Soraka witnessed. She watched, helpless, as mortals ignorantly broke the threads of destiny they could have woven together. Their lives were too short, she reasoned. They were simply unable to see the greater patterns, now lost.

But as Soraka lived among them, as one of them, trying to repair what little of the damage she could… something incredible and wholly unforeseen happened.

From the snarls and tangles and knots, the messy breaks in the great patterns, Soraka noticed a new, unintended design emerging—intertwined, and of a staggering complexity.

Unintended and wild, the mortals were forging new and unknown futures for themselves. From the celestial realm above, it had seemed like pure chaos; but with her new perspective, and blessed by the stars to stand against the erosion of time, Soraka now beheld an almost perfect beauty. Just as mortals had the deepest capacity for cruelty, so too did they possess infinite potential for kindness, and inspiration to rival anything among the stars.

Soraka realized her place was not to repair or replicate the celestial pattern. While a part of her craved the fixed, comforting destinies of the stars, she knew in her heart that static fates could not contain the unbridled, dynamic potential of mortality.

And so her work took on renewed vigor, driven to unlock the untapped possibilities of all she met. Soraka sought now to inspire and guide rather than shepherd, to see what unblazed trails each mortal would discover for themselves in their brief, radiant moment.

Over the millennia, legends of the Starchild have filtered through all the lands of Runeterra. Some tribes of the Freljord still speak of a far wanderer, a horned healer who soothed the icy bite of the most brutal winters. In the depths beneath Zaun, rumors float of a lilac skinned medic who would purify weary lungs from the ravages of the alchemical Gray. In troubled Ionia, the oldest myths of the Vastayashai’rei recall a seer who communed with the stars themselves, and called upon their light both to heal the wounded and scorch those who would do further harm to the First Lands.

Currently, Soraka calls the westernmost peaks of Targon her home. She watches over an isolated tribe of vastaya, teaching them her healing ways, and tending quietly to her own needs—though what brings her so close to the great mountain, or how long she will stay, only Soraka knows.

Many times, she has watched entire civilizations dance close to the brink of destruction, and she has learned that she cannot save those who do not wish it, nor force them to see what they will not.

All the same, Soraka is determined never to stop trying.

[ferinehuntress]

　⊰ ⸻ ⊱　"Hey, it's okay," were the first words that slipped her lips, worried about what was going through her head. And then when Vi hurt herself her brows lowered in concern as she placed one hand against her arm and the other soothingly rubbing her back. "Easy, easy," Caitlyn whispered, knowing that had to hurt. just her roar of words expressed how much it must be splitting her head in half. She reached over toward a bottle of medication her father must have given Vi, and she opened it up to plop two pills into her hands. That should take care of the pain and any residual headache she thought to herself. She set the two small circular pills on the table and then the cup to Vi.

A soft smile touched her lips to see her drinking the tea, hoping it would soothe her throat and let her forget about the pain a little bit. They both were in a pretty bad spot from their wounds and the pain would be there for a while. Her shoulder and her neck still hurt the most out of all her wounds, Jinx's fangs dug so deep into her neck that it was a miracle she hadn't bled out.

Leaning back in her chair, she rested the cup back and looked over to Vi as she finally found the words she needed. The way Vi spoke those words left a chill down her spine, looking at Vi's finger tapping the bullet. Caitlyn's eyes widened as she looked over at the bone. Human bones could not hold up in a bullet, but, Silco wasn't entirely human was he? Caitlyn took one of her clawed nails and tapped the bullet. It was a firm piece of material, harder than wood or regular bone.

"She... ate Silco?" Caitlyn slowly spoke, as she let out a breath of disbelief, and yet when it came to Jinx somehow it always wasn't a surprise either. Caitlyn flinched at the memory of the tea party and Jinx's voice, taunting Vi to eat her. How she would be a good meal, but she didn't realize it was part of the culture itself. Caitlyn's hands reached up to thread into her hair, trying to rid the memory that decided to pop up.

"We eat meat, oh I knew what was in those bowls, I knew what we had to do. You thought you were sly, but I know the taste, and it was delicious. This is food, and her blood makes your mouth water."

A shuddering breath left Caitlyn's lips as she let her hands fall to her lap and slowly opened them, trying to take a slow breath. "That's why she wanted to eat me. I'm her enemy," Caitlyn spoke quietly and then looked over to Vi as she finished talking and she watched her bury her fingers into her hair. Caitlyn couldn't fathom the idea of eating human flesh, it didn't evne make sense to her why anyone would partake in it. The one time she did it, it horrified her. She couldn't get the taste out of her mouth no matter how much she tried and she was sick for days. Caitlyn also realized why Vi was troubled, the last sentence.

Even I did it.

While she couldn't understand it, it was something that Zaun did, and seemed they must have done it for a long time. Caitlyn shifted her chair and placed her hand up against Vi's good cheek, and then leaned up and kissed her tiger's temple. "Vi," Caitlyn whispered gently, wanting to comfort Vi cause this was tormenting her. It didn't matter what Jinx had done to Silco, or what the Zaunites did in their culture. "Look at me love," Fingers brushed up along Vi's head as she soothed her tenderly. "What you did, was acceptable down there, and I can't imagine how hard it must be to explain that part of Zaun," Caitlyn's finger brushed along her cheek, with the same adoration she had before she even knew about this truth. "I can't say I know what it's like to be subjected to it every day of my life, and how hard it must have been. Assuming it must have been with how you are reacting," A quiet moment as she let out a little sigh and glanced down.

"I... accidentally did it once before a few years ago. I didn't mean to, but I can't forget what it tasted like, and just how unnerving it was," blue eyes turned back up to Vi and her hand brushed along her head again. "The way I saw the undercity, the struggles it bears, you did what was acceptable and what you needed to do to survive. I know that doesn't take away the memories or the taste, but if I can, you never have to do it again," The words sounded like a vow she made and then lightly nudged Vi. "Besides, I like the way you eat me out better than what they do down there," Caitlyn teased, trying to make light of the situation though she wasn't sure if her jokes were very good. She often failed to understand jokes or even make them.

It had taken three months after the Council building had exploded, Cassandra Kiramman had died and Piltover had pretty much lost its marbles collectively for Powder to make an appearance again. Not only had her sister reappeared in the heart of the City of Progress, but she had also chosen to attack Caitlyn near her own home. Vi could have kicked herself for having been so stupid as to focus only on Sevika and the gruesome facial injuries, she had retained from her, that she had not even been there to protect Caitlyn!

What was worse, was that Vi had a very good guess as to why Jinx had taken three months to make a reappearance. It may have been easy to assume that her grief had stupefied her (though Vi was honest, the idea of Jinx grieving over this bastard Silco sickened her to the spine), but Vi knew better. It was almost certain that Powder had done the one Zaunite ritual, which Vi had sworn off. However, if she had to go by physiology and what she knew of her own digestion process, it made sense that Powder had only been able to complete this funeral rite after three months.

"I know", Vi tried to defend herself fast, even as Caitlyn reassured her that this was not her fault, "It's just... I'm sorry..." For being born a Zaunite. She could not even finish her sentence. Caitlyn's comforting words, her gentle caress on her cheek, and the way those bright blue eyes stared up at her made Vi's stomach clench in hopeless longing and the way her guilt twisted up her innards. Sometimes, during particularly bad days, Vi felt like she did not deserve any of it.

Vi was about to ask what Caitlyn meant when she said for Vi to watch her face, however, then her face during her outburst answered the question for her. Sharp, stinging pain penetrated the left side of her face, flared up around her eye and splintered her skull. Vi held the side of her face and roared: "Ow! Fuck me sideways with a chainsaw!"

Caitlyn's claws, finer cut and trimmed, trailed down her spine in a trickling, soothing sensation. Vi rocked back and forth, nursing her face, her visible green eye dark from the pain and livid at her own stupidity. Caitlyn's soothing and crisp voice found its way through her pounding skull. Slowly, Vi's rocking subsided and she tried her hardest to calm down. It was true: Compared to Piltover, the Undercity was a whole other animal; and Caitlyn had never judged that animal, no matter how ugly and messy things got. Even so, whether intentionally or not, Vi had shielded Caitlyn from the worst of Zaun.

Vi gave a muted nod when Caitlyn offered to make her some sweet tea. A potential drink was exactly what she needed right now. She lowered her hand from the left side of her face - it had finally stopped pounding - and stared ahead in mute silence. "Thanks", Vi murmured as Caitlyn placed the mug of sweetened tea before her. She took a small sip, sighing in soft relief as the tea soothed her throat.

"I think I know whose bone that bullet is made from", Vi finally started to speak, "And I think I know how Powder acquired it." Her hand was pale as she tapped against the bone bullet. "That bullet was made from Silco's bones." She took another sip of her tea before she spoke again: "I also think I know why Jinx only showed up now, three months later. She must have eaten Silco. It's... it's a common funeral practice in the Undercity. Eating the flesh of your loved ones or eating the flesh of an enemy." Vi swallowed tensely and burrowed her hands in her magenta hair, carefully avoiding her injuries this time. "Eating human meat in general is incredibly normal. Even children do it. Even I... did it."

[kikiiswashere]

Children of Zaun - Chapter 4

Pairing: Silco/Fem!OC (eventually. Slow burn, mates)

Rating: Explicit

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

Chapter Summary: Katya visits a client and then meets with Sevika and the Children of Zaun's founders. They ask something of her that leaves her feeling cagey and cornered. She attempts to flee, but is stopped thrice. First by a gross dude; then by Sevika; finally by Silco.

Chapter CW: Drug dealing and drug use, harrassment and non-consensual touching, mild violence (pushing and threat with a firearm)

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 5.9K

Finally, the physicals for the day had petered out. Katya’s neck ached from hunching over charts and her head thrummed from the constant influx of patient information. All too gladly, she slammed the filing cabinet door shut. She wouldn’t need to concern herself with those files again until tomorrow. She would be relieved when the miner’s physicals would be done. At this rate, it was looking like the end of this week, perhaps early next.

Katya’s mind was quick to shift gears in the wake of the medical supplies due to be delivered within the hour. Her heart thundered against her ribs as she reviewed the order sheet. She wished she hadn’t forgotten that it was set to arrive today, she would’ve packed and prepared her person better. She shook her head, plait swishing against her back, and ran her tongue over her teeth.

It didn’t matter.

The small, secret pockets she had sewn into her father’s coat would suffice in getting a small portion of the supplies home and organized for orders.

It was a plot she and her father had schemed up shortly before his death. She couldn’t let Viktor's place at the preparatory school be compromised. Not after all the work it took to get him there, keep him there. Not when he would certainly die in the Sump, choked by pollution and ravaged by illness.

No. Viktor would stay Topside. As much as possible. Katya promised her father as she had held his cracked head in her hands, blood and brains spilling out from a wound she couldn’t fix. She had then taken his small pistol and shot the Enforcer her father had managed to hobble in their skirmish. It had been late and dark, and the Undercity’s soundscape was rife with the sound of violence so there had been no witnesses. No one cared. Just another dead Trencher and dead Enforcer.

Katya mindlessly organized the clinic until the small speaker on the front desk fizzled to life.

“Front gate to medical.”

The young medic threw herself over the edge of the desk and pressed the response button. “It’s me, Marzi,” Katya wheezed, the desk pressing into her diaphragm. “I’m here.”

“There’s a medical supplier here. Says there’s to be a delivery.”

“Yes. Yes. Send them down.”

The other end of the call hissed away as Marzi cut the line. Katya waited for the tell-tale rumble of delivery carts to approach the clinic door. When it did, she politely opened it for a lanky deliveryman. A prosthetic hand presented her with the delivery receipt and she signed it in a flourish, thanking him. He grunted an acknowledgment and slunk out of the clinic.

Katya carefully unstacked and opened the boxes. Her stomach fluttered at the contents inside. Packages upon packages of gauze, tape, needle and thread, plaster, syringes, antiseptic, burn gel, scalpels, ice packs . . .

Katya’s lips tightened as she opened the next, smaller boxes labelled ‘fragile’. Vials of medicine: various kinds of antibiotics, pain killers, morphine, high-strength decongestants . . . these were the big-ticket items. Such things never showed up in the Undercity’s marketplace. If someone wanted actual medicine like this, they would have to go Topside. And even if they managed that hurdle – and a tall hurdle it was – the cost of medication would be prohibitive.

That’s what made Katya such a necessary commodity in the Undercity. She was the only supplier. But she was meticulous about her clientele. Only engaging with people who were consistent, trustworthy and kept their damn mouths shut. She only needed enough to make sure she and Viktor survived. No more, no less.

Katya took out the original order list and began cross referencing it against the packing slip and the goods in the boxes. Once done, she restocked the examination room and supply closet. Sliding the final box of gauze pads in place, she peeked to her pocket watch. The mine would be entering its next shift shortly. Will would be coming back to relieve her. Haggard miners would slowly shuffle home, to a pub, or to a brothel. Others, mostly children and youths without homes, would return to the cramped barracks offered by the mine.

Katya slid the watch back into her vest and strode to the clinic’s door. She lowered the shade and locked it before grabbing her coat. She returned to the examination room and reached deep into the sleeve of the coat, pulling out a syringe.

‘Just the morphine,’ she thought, amber eyes gliding over the tantalizing vials in front of her. She had a client she could swing by to that night and collect a decent chunk of change for the drug. Enough to get another bag of oats for the cupboard.

Gently, she retrieved another treasure from deep in the coat: a small empty vial. She wrote in her work notes that she disposed of empty medicine containers.

She didn’t.

She kept them.

With great practice, Katya used her empty syringe to puncture the membrane of a morphine vial, drawing the medicine up into the vessel. Not enough to rouse suspicion. Not too much. Enough to give her client a high and rest bit from his chronic pain. Enough to make some coin.

She transferred the nip into the empty vial and safely tucked it into her coat.

The mine’s bell sounded, announcing the change in shifts, and Katya placed the morphine vial back in the cabinet. No one would be none the wiser.

By the time Silco and Sevika trudged into The Last Drop, the bar was already pleasantly packed and boisterous. Despite the sickly undertones that colored the Fissures, the interior of the establishment was warm, yellow light glowing through the various stained-glass lamps peppered across the ceiling. Mismatched wooden chairs and tables were scattered through the large main room, crackling vinyl booths lined most of the wall space. An old jukebox was in the corner, wheezing out a jangly tune over the heads of patrons. The far wall was the bar, and Vander was behind it.

Despite being so young, The Last Drop was his establishment. He had inherited it from the last proprietor the year before, a man that had took Vander under his wing when the boy decided (with much pressure from Silco) to leave the mines when it became clear the Topsiders were ready to work him to death. Seeing the value of his size and surprising people skills, the old Drop owner brought the lad on. Vander was given room and board and a small weekly paycheck. He had stayed ever since, responsibilities and pay steadily increasing until, finally, the old barman wrote Vander into his will, leaving his long-time employee the business.

Silco and Sevika made their way up to the bar, Silco’s eyes scanning the room as they wove in-between tables. The pub was mostly filled with older regulars, people they hadn’t yet tried to wrangle into their revolutionary plans. People their age were easier. Less stories. Less tired. Less hopeless.

“Oi! There you two are! We’ve been waiting!”

Benzo sat at the bar, his large body slightly canted as he swiveled in his seat to face the two miners, a frothy tankard in hand. He waved them over as Vander looked up from the cups he was washing. A smile lifted his gray-blue eyes.

Sevika hopped onto the stool next to Benzo, Silco took up the one next to her. Vander plunked a fresh tankard in front of Silco and a glass of water in front of Sevika.

“Come ooooon, Van,” Sevika whined, rolling her eyes and head back dramatically.

“No,” was the simple reply. When Vander turned back to the sink, the teen quickly dipped her mouth to the frothy head of Silco’s mug and took a quick slurp. She pulled away before Vander turned back, a satisfied smirk and a bubbly mustache on her full lips. Vander frowned at the teen, and flicked his eyes over to his lanky compatriot. Silco really didn’t care. He was busying himself with rolling a cigarette. A boney shoulder lifted and fell.

“It’s not like you’ll get in trouble for serving someone underage,” Silco droned, running his tongue down the seam of the paper. “Enforcers won’t come in here. Besides, we were drinking before Sev’s age. Do you have a light?”

Vander pouted and reached into his pocket, producing a book of matches. He slid them across the bar. Silco’s long fingers caught it.

“There’s a good barkeep.”

 “Is it just us?” Sevika asked, glancing around.

Vander set his large hands on the bar top and shifted his hip. “Aye. Beckett and Annie are scouting the docks tonight – “

“Was that a good idea?” Silco asked incredulously, lighting the end of his cigarette. “Beckett’s head has spent more time between Annie’s thighs than in the game recently.”

Before Vander could answer, Benzo chuckled into his drink, “You’re just jealous, Sil. When was the last time that beak of yours pressed into anything that wasn’t a pile of mine soot?”

Silco’s eyes flashed, and as quick as a snake lurched past Sevika, pressing the cherry end of his cigarette against Benzo’s meaty forearm. The larger man yelped, sloshing his beer as he pulled away.

“Silco!” Vander hissed, batting Silco’s arm back to his side of the bar.

“Pissy little thing, aren’t’cha?” Benzo grit, clamping thick fingers over the burn. “Didn’ realize it was such a sore – “

“Enough, ‘Zo,” Vander spat. He wrapped some ice cubes in a rag and handed it to him, before bringing his attention back to Sevika.

 “Beckett and Annie are at the docks,” he repeated. “I didn’t gather anyone else since . . . this isn’t a done deal yet. I figured it would be best to meet with her, just the five of us. So we wouldn’t spook or overwhelm her.”

Sevika’s eyes dropped to her glass and she swiveled it against the table nervously. “Probably the right idea.”

Katya rapped her knuckles against the flimsy, wet wood and waited. When nothing happened after a couple minutes, she knocked again.

“Pfeffer? It’s Katya.”

Finally, she heard movement beyond the door. It stopped after a moment and was replaced by a high, gruff, angry voice.

“Key. Top o’ the frame.”

Katya lifted up onto the toes of her boots, and ran her fingers along the top of the rotting wood. She felt the cool metal of the key and grasped it firmly between her fingers. The lock took a couple twists and tugs before its inner-workings scraped into place. Katya adjusted her scarf against her mouth and nose before opening the door.

The smell. Gods, the smell.

Rot. Stale urine. Ripe body odor. An unemptied chamber pot.

Pfeffer’s home (an entirely too generous term) was small and windowless. It was simply a bricked-up alleyway with a door. Katya kept it open ajar to filter some of the stink out, and to leave the unspoken message that she would not be staying. She gently shifted garbage and dirty clothes out of her path with the tips of her shoes, as she cut to the back of the hovel where the Vastaya lay on his couch.

Katya twisted the knob of a nearby lamp, and yellow light washed over the back of the room. Pfeffer’s  eyes squinted against the light and slid up to Katya’s face. His cheeks slackened and he took a great, rattling breath. One that made his bones creak and his muscles spasm. He winced and groaned on his exhale. Carefully, Katya knelt down at his side.

“What took you so long?” he growled.

Katya ignored his rudeness as she took one of his too-thin arms and rolled up his dirty sleeve. She knew his agitation wasn’t about her. It was about his pain. Some disease that cramped and warped his muscles excruciatingly against his bones, leaving him relatively immobile and infirmed. She rotated his forearm in her hands, inspecting. He grit his sharp teeth and hissed under her feather-light touches. She sweetly shushed him in the same way she would Viktor when he was upset. She ran her fingers down his paper-thin skin, eying the threads of blue and purple veins peeking out between patches of brittle fur.

“I only have one dose right now,” she said. “Do you want the whole thing? Or just half, and you can give yourself the other half later?”

Pfeffer fixed her with a veiny eyed stare and chewed his dry lips. A long moment passed before he whispered, “Half.”

Katya nodded and let go of his arm, fishing out the small vial and syringe from deep within her coat. She prepared the needle and set the remaining half-dose on the table next to the couch.

“Small pinch,” she said out of habit as she carefully pierced the needle just under the inside of his elbow. Pfeffer’s eyelids fluttered and a warbling sigh escaped his mouth as the morphine was pressed into his body. Katya felt him sag underneath her gentle hold.

Carefully, she pulled the tip of the needle out from his arm and set it next to the vial. “Try to give it at least six hours before you take the rest of it. I can be back day after next with more.”

Pfeffer’s head bobbled drunkenly up and down against the arm of his couch. A clawed hand lazily floated up and gestured toward a hutch across the room. Katya got up and went over to where he had pointed. A cracked jar was perched on one of the hutch’s shelves and she ducked her hand inside, pulling out a mis-matched handful of coins. She sifted through them, before pocketing their agreed upon price and tossing the left-overs back into the ceramic.

“I’ll be back with the rest of your order day after next,” Katya repeated as she made for the door. She spared one final glance at Pfeffer – whose breathing had shifted to something long and steady, glazed eyes stared up at the ceiling – before shutting the door and locking it.

Katya hopped up and placed the key back in its shitty hiding spot, before sauntering down the alley. Her steps made lighter by the slight weight of Hexes in her pocket.

Katya would much rather just go home after picking up the small sack of oats from the marketplace. But she had promised Sevika. And so, with a few less coins in her pocket and a few days’ worth of breakfast in her hand, she made her way through the Undercity’s business district.

The Lanes took their deepest breaths at night. Fanning flames of activity and life between the winding streets. Colorful neon lights pulsed above, washing the uneven streets in technicolor. The sounds of music, machines, and men thrummed through the air, jockeying for the top-notes of the soundscape they made together. Bodies jostled every which way. Occasionally, the imposing silhouette of an Enforcer creeped at the edges of the crowds. It was chaotic. Katya kept her head down as she wove through the packed streets.

The Last Drop came into view, the focal point of an open square, one of the few in the Lanes. Katya knew that the bar was a long-time establishment of the Undercity, though she had never been. She was pretty sure her father had been a few times. Before Viktor was born. Katya’s gaze lifted automatically to the open space above. It was rare to have such an unobstructed view towards the sky. The tangles of buildings and Conveyor tracks crisscrossed so thickly that it was almost impossible to see anything at the bottom of the Fissures.

Although, technically speaking, Katya couldn’t really see the sky. She could see the blanket of Grey with whisps of stars peeking through the occasional break in the smog. But it was still an open view, and that was novel.

She bumped into a large body as her eyes were lifted. Bashfully muttering an apology, she committed her eyes to her feet as she strode toward The Last Drop. She gripped the brass handle and pulled the heavy door open.

It was . . . cozy inside. Not quiet, but the sounds were warmer and the lights not so abrasive. The space smelled of tobacco, ale, and a little bit of sweat. It all felt very familiar. Katya squared her shoulders and reminded herself that she was not here to be lulled and comforted by some kind of by-proxy nostalgia. She was here to fulfill a foolish favor. And then get out.

She scanned the packed room for Sevika. After a couple cursory glances, a large brown arm flailing toward the back caught Katya’s eyes. Sevika smiled once their gazes locked onto each other and gestured her back. Katya took a deep breath and strode toward the bar.

As she wove through the other patrons, Katya’s eyes traveled between the three young men that surrounded the teen. The thin one to Sevika’s left she recognized from earlier that day. Silco the miner with the icy eyes, smart mouth, and Rynweaver’s nose. The other two men were large, and she tried to remember if their faces were familiar to her from the mines.

The one to Sevika’s right was a tad shorter than the man behind the bar. Wider, too, with a smaller head that sloped seamlessly onto his shoulders thanks to a thick neck. His sideburns bordered on muttonchops and his long light brown hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck in a ponytail.

The young man behind the bar was very tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. His large hands were spread confidently over the bar top as he rested his weight on his thick wrists. Blue-grey eyes shown beneath bushy brows and a shaggy head of dark brown hair. As Katya closed in, she saw patchy stubble smattered across his prominent jaw and chin.

“You came!” Sevika cried, as she leapt from her stool and pulled Katya tightly to her chest.

The girl was nervous, Katya could tell. Her eyes too wide, voice too high and tight. 

‘Good,’ Katya thought. ‘She should be nervous.’

Sevika unwrapped her friend and turned to her three compatriots. “Kat, this is Benzo, Vander, and you already met Silco,” she presented gesturing to each man.

Careful to keep her expression neutral, Katya’s eyes flicked between the three in front of her as they were introduced. Benzo had nodded and lifted his mug of ale. Katya’s eyes quickly appraised what looked like a fresh, circular burn on his meaty forearm. Vander had smiled warmly and lifted a hand. Silco stared at her, cigarette smoldering between his lips. Her eyes glanced back at the burn on Benzo’s forearm, her upper lip briefly lifted.

“It’s nice to meet you Kat – “

“Katya,” came the terse correction.

“Er – of course. Katya,” Vander amended. “It’s good to finally meet you. Sev’s talked about you a lot.”

It was kind, meant to make her feel at ease and welcomed. But Katya continued to keep her face schooled and body militant. She was pleased to see Vander’s eyes quiver with doubt.

“Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you.”

“You sure?” Benzo chimed in. “Vander’s got the best ale this side of Piltover.”

Katya shifted from one foot to the other, thinking on the few coins left in her pocket. She wasn’t going to give them up. A small tickle of nervousness scratched at the base of her spine and she unconsciously chewed the inside of her lip.

“On the house,” Vander added, smiling warmly at her.

“Perhaps she prefers something stronger,” Silco suddenly added, releasing a steady stream of smoke from his lips.

There was a pause before Vander asked, “Well, Lass, that true?”

“Ale is fine,” Katya heard herself say. Sevika’s hand gripped her shoulder firmly and grinned. “Thank you.”

“Coming right up,” Vander announced as he moved around the bar.

“Maybe we can move this talk to somewhere more private?” Sevika offered as a fresh pint was placed on the bar top.

Vander nodded, wiping his hands with the towel draped over his shoulder.

“Oi, Cairn!” he called over his shoulder. Somewhere, from a back room, a young darkly-complected teen appeared, a large bus tray in his shapely arms. Big hazel eyes looked to Vander before flitting between the crew behind the barman, and then once again landed on his summoner.

“I’m gonna step away for a bit. Watch the bar, wouldj’ya?”

Cairn nodded, his curly white hair bouncing with the movement. Vander tossed the towel under the bar and came around, gesturing for the others to follow him. Benzo was first, followed by Silco, who stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray. An icy glance glinted Katya’s way before the thin miner ambled behind the two larger men.

Sevika adjusted her stance to better look at her friend. Silver eyes big and pleading.

“Just . . . listen. Hear them – us – out.”

Kayta’s finger tightened around the handle of her mug and was led away from The Last Drop’s main room.

Katya was led back to what appeared to be living quarters. Vander’s, she supposed. She sat down at the round table where the three men had gathered, Sevika sitting next to her. The teen’s eyes kept flitting between Katya and the others nervously.

“How long have you worked at the mines?” Benzo asked, breaking the silence.

“Since I was six,” Katya answered, taking a small sip of her drink. She licked the foam off her lips as the bitterness of the hops settled against the back of her tongue. It wasn’t bad. For the Undercity. “You?”

Benzo shook his head, ponytail swishing against his back. “Work at my ol’ man’s pawn and scrap shop. Took it over a few years ago when he up n’ died.”

“I’m sorry.”

Benzo waved a fleshy hand, “Iss’fine. He was sorta a cunt anyhow.”

Katya stiltedly nodded and took another nip of her ale. Her attention was caught by Silco handing Sevika a freshly rolled cigarette and another to Vander. He caught her staring as he swiped his tongue down the seam of a third. There was the briefest of pauses before he pressed the edges together and gestured it towards her, dark eyebrow lifting.

Katya’s nose scrunched and she shook her head, letting her eyes drop back to her glass. Silco shrugged and placed the cigarette between his own lips.

“What? Not gonna offer me one?”

“Mmm,” Silco non-answered, striking a match. He passed the matchbook to Sevika and Vander.

Benzo mumbled into his mug, “You rat-faced, little – “

“I think we should just cut to the chase,” Vander broke in. He placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward. His eyes traced back and forth between Silco and Benzo, a friendly warning glinting behind them, before settling on Katya. “How much has Sev told you?”

Katya shifted in her seat, the wood creaking under her. Her amber eyes drifted between the three of them – Vander watching her patiently, Benzo with a tomcat grin on his face, Silco was unreadable. Sevika was the last to fall under Katya’s gaze. She was trying to seem unbothered, but when Katya’s disproving eyes looked to the cigarette between her lips, the tips of Sevika’s ears blushed. Katya looked back to Vander.

“That you’re trying to rally the Underground to fight Piltover.”

“To fight for our independence,” Silco added. His low, convicted voice cut across the table in a smooth blade. It sent shivers over Katya’s skin, as did the hard look he fixed her with.

“We have a dream of a free nation,” Vander said, his eyes looking over to Silco. Something like adoration filled them before they switched back to Katya. “To throw Piltover’s bootheel off of the Undercity. To give our people a chance.”

Katya’s fingers tightened against her mug. “How do you plan to do such a thing?”

“We’ve already rallied a hundred or so people. People committed to this cause, to change. Right now, a decent chunk of them are miners – “

Katya looked to Sevika and Silco, eyes widening.

“ – so when we decide to make our move, not only will it rattle the Pilties, it’ll hurt their pocket books as well.”

“There’s Bone, too,” Benzo chipped in, looking excited.

“Bone is in on this?” Katya breathed, disbelieving.

“Well, n-no,” Benzo conceded, bravado faltering. “But it can only help us to have a fellow Trencher on the Council, right? We can pull him in once we build up a head of steam – “

“Your heads are full of something,” Katya muttered, taking a swig of ale.

Vander’s eyebrows creased. “We are making decent headway. We have Brothers and Sisters stretching all throughout the Undercity. The mines, the docks, Entresol, Sump, Promenade. People are tired. The Undercity – Zaun – is ready to lead itself. We just need to show them.”

“You will get people killed.”

“Hopefully not as many if you join us,” Vander said, his tone reverent.

“Why would I matter?”

Vander shared a look with Sevika before returning to Katya. “Sevika has told us you’re a good medic. We need that. Because people will get hurt. They already are. Enforcers beat us without the threat of a revolution, it will only get worse when the Children of Zaun step out of the shadows.”

Katya snorted. Silco’s eyes narrowed. Vander continued.

“We need someone with medical training – “

“I’m not trained.”

“Know-how, then,” Vander countered without batting an eye. “The Children of Zaun need someone with medical know-how to keep as many of us alive as possible. You’re good at keeping people alive. Sev has told us about your brother. A lad like him in the Sump should’ve died ages ago, and yet you have kept him alive.”

Vander smiled warmly at Katya. She knew he was trying to praise her, connect with her, make her feel like she could trust him with bringing up Viktor. But all it did was make her feel cornered, invaded. She bristled and felt her shoulders hike up.

“My brother is alive because he spends most of his time in Piltover,” she shot back. “And this . . . foolishness you’re talking about would greatly endanger his ability to stay at the Academy.”

Katya felt warm. Anger rising beneath her collar. Her skin crawled as she sensed something unsaid that hung in the air.

“We’re not looking to war with Piltover,” Vander clarified. “We don’t want to decimate them. We just want Zaun’s independence, for our nations to be equals – “

“What aren’t you telling me?” Katya snapped. “Why me? Why do I matter to you?”

Vander clamped his jaw shut and let out a weary sigh through his nose, clearly displeased with being interrupted. He took a long final drag from his cigarette and tossed it in a tin can that sat in the middle of the table.

“Sev says you do the orderin’ at the mine’s clinic,” Benzo jumped in, giving Vander a chance to gather his thoughts.

Katya glared at him, nostrils flaring. “So what?”

Benzo’s eyes went wide with confusion. He looked to Sevika, then Vander, then back to Katya. “So, she said that you . . . cook the books sometimes. Over order and distribute wears in the Lanes.”

Katya went cold, mouth dropping in horror. Her stomach tumbled to her feet and her heart leapt into her throat. She looked at Sevika. The teen, realizing her mistake in Katya’s reaction, timorously looked away. She plucked her cigarette from her lips and tipped the ash into the tin can.

“I – I can’t believe you,” Katya hissed once her mouth and tongue began working again.

Sevika set her jaw, mustering the courage to face her friend. “Kat, they won’t – “

“We won’t say anything,” Vander finished. He fixed her with a steady, reassuring gaze. “We need your expertise and the supplies at your disposal. Katya – “

Katya was trembling as she pushed away from the table and got to her feet. She couldn’t believe this. She had told Sevika in strict confidence about embezzling the mine’s medical supplies; she had had the teen help her transport some of the larger orders out of the clinic, believing she could trust her. Who else had she blabbed to? Didn’t Sevika understand that spreading this information jeopardized both Katya and Viktor? If Katya was found out and sent to Stillwater (or killed), Viktor’s space at school would be forfeit. He’d die in the Sump. Alone. Abandoned. Forgotten.

Katya’s breathing became ragged, panicked, as she pawed at her coat. She had to get out of there. Finally, her fingers pinched around one of the Cogs she had gotten in change from the oats. She flung it onto the table where it bounced with a resounding PING!

“For the drink,” she spat. She didn’t want any of the bartender’s favors. “Fuck you,” she added to no one, thereby implicating the whole table.

On shaky legs, Katya spun around and hurried out of the apartment. She heard Sevika calling her name. Katya ignored it. She burst through the door that led to the pub, causing the busboy Cairn to jump and spill the drink he was pouring. Before he could ask what the matter was, Katya was cutting across the floor, bumping into a few patrons as she went.

She stumbled out of The Last Drop into the chilly, humid night and paused to take a great, shuttering breath. She hadn’t realized she was holding it. Her lungs burned from lack of oxygen and anxiety. She tripped to a stop, eyes wide and dry, breathing resuming in short pants. Her brain was short-circuiting.

Who else knew?

What did she need to do?

Was there anything to do?

Go home?

Run across the Bridge, get Viktor, and leave the Undercity before her crimes were found out?

How would she even do that? They didn’t have enough money to leave.

As Katya froze to her spot on the cobblestone square, she started getting several questioning looks from people milling around, going about their evening. She was jolted back to life when a hand fell onto her shoulder. She gasped and spun around, her legs tangling together.

“Whoa, whoa!” chuckled a gruff voice. The stranger grabbed Katya’s other shoulder to steady her. “Easy there, darlin’.”

He leered at her with his four yellowing teeth. The smell of expired chewing tobacco heavy on his breath. His grip went from being supportive to controlling. “Ye need some help? Ye look outta sorts. Lemme help ya.”

Before Katya could work up a wad a spit to shoot into the stranger’s face, he was ripped off of her and thrown to the ground. Sevika’s large boot stomped firmly into his chest, pinning him down.

“Don’t touch her,” the teen snarled. She pressed her foot down and the man beneath her sputtered and gasped, hands clawing at Sevika’s leg.

“Hey! What’s going on there?” a hollow, monotoned voice called through the crowd. Katya, Sevika, and the man’s eyes snapped up and over to the voice.

Enforcers.

Two of them. Making their way through the crowds toward the small scuffle.

Faculties coming back online, Katya swept away into the masses. Sevika released the man out of under her boot and kicked him in the ribs before running as well.

“Stop!” the other Enforcer called as he tried to shoulder his way through the throngs of Undercity denizens.

By the time they made it to the spot of the altercation, the near-toothless man was picking himself back up, grumbling, before skulking away. The two girls were gone.

Katya slipped into an alley once she was a few streets away from The Last Drop. She had lost the Enforcers. But not Sevika.

“Kat! Kat, wait!”

Sevika reached a hand out for Katya’s shoulder, wincing when she wrenched it away. Shocked when Katya turned around and pushed her into the brick wall.

“I can’t believe you told them!” she grated, amber eyes wide with disbelief and hurt. Betrayal. “I can’t believe you told them. Who else have you told?”

“No one – “

“Who have they told?”

“No one,” answered a third voice.

Both Katya and Sevika’s heads turned to the mouth of the alleyway to see Silco standing there. He watched the two women, eyes lingering on Katya’s flushed face.

“We haven’t told anyone else,” he repeated, taking a step forward.

Katya stared at him, assessing. His face gave nothing away, nor did his tone of voice; the mocking lilt he had to her in earlier that day gone. He held her gaze easily.

“Come with me,” Silco said. “I want to show you something.”

Anger flared under Katya’s skin again. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m going home.”

She made to turn, but Silco’s long arm shot out and grabbed her elbow. Adrenaline coursed through Katya’s veins as she hurled back, ripping her arm out of his grasp. She pushed him, as she had Sevika, and took a couple steps back, right hand fumbling inside her coat. Silco, who seemed unphased, was quick to close the distance between them. Until he was stopped in his tracks, the barrel of a small snub-nosed pistol aimed up at his face.

Katya bared her teeth and her hands trembled. She hadn’t used her father’s pistol since the night he died, but she always kept it tucked in his coat. Sloppily, her thumb drew back the pistol’s hammer. It clicked into place. Silco watched her with steady eyes.

“Katya,” Sevika whispered. “C’mon. Don’t do this.”

In the brief moment Katya’s attention was snagged by Sevika, Silco sprang forward. He moved so swiftly that Katya couldn’t even process what he did. All she knew was that she was suddenly on the ground, pistol gone. Her arm heatedly thrummed from being twisted. Bewildered, she looked up, the gun now being aimed at her. Silco’s expression remained neutral, but Katya caught the annoying glimmer of mirth in his teal eyes.

An actual grin cut his mouth as he lowered the weapon, resetting the hammer. He slid the cylinder out of the gun’s frame and let out an amused huff seeing that it was actually loaded. He seemed pleased that she hadn’t been bluffing. He took a moment more to inspect the small piece, before handing it back to her. Katya’s brow crumpled and she tentatively stretched her finger tips for the handle.

When her hand wrapped fully around the pistol, Silco let go and repeated, “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

He held out a large calloused hand. Katya stared at it before looking back up into his face. Silco seemed peeved, but something entreating and genuine sparkled in his intense blue eyes. Cautiously, Katya slipped her hand into his offered one. It was rough and warm. And strong as he lifted her onto her feet.

“Head back to The Drop, Sev,” Silco ordered over his shoulder. “Tell Vander I’ll be back later.”

Sevika pouted, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, fingers fidgeting at her sides. Making it clear she wanted to stay. Silco didn’t offer, and after a moment Sevika turned and trudged out of the alleyway. Silco turned back to Katya and let go of her hand.

“Come on,” he commanded, leaping up for the lowest wrung of a fire escape and pulling himself up.

Reluctantly, Katya followed.

“What do you want to show me?” she asked, as they climbed up the rickety iron steps.

Silco looked down at her from the landing above, eyes glittering.

“Zaun.”

Notes: Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, please leave a comment and reblog. I'd really appreciate the feedback and love. MWAH!

Coming Up Next: Silco is Zaun's best hypeman. Katya better steel herself.

Next Chapter

[stellavotum-blog]

･ﾟ✧ѕσяαкα, тнє ѕтαяᴄнιℓ∂☽༓✩

An age ago, when time itself was young, the inhabitants of the celestial realm regarded the fledgling races of Runeterra with growing concern.

These creatures deviated wildly, unpredictably, and dangerously from the great designs intended for them by those above. The guidance and fates that had been woven into the night sky often went unseen—or worse, were misinterpreted by their simple mortal minds, leading to chaos, uncertainty, and suffering.

No longer able to merely watch, one celestial being chose to descend to the mortal realm, determined to untangle the knots in the tapestry of the world. This child of the stars took on a form of flesh and blood, and though the powerful magic coursing through her veins burned this new body from the inside out, she knew her suffering meant little if she could help to heal all that was broken and incomplete.

And so Soraka came to be, and set upon her journey to soothe the mortals she encountered.

Even so, she quickly learned the capacity for cruelty that the peoples of Runeterra possessed. Whether on the battlefields of inescapable conflicts, in the seedy underbellies of sprawling cities, or on the frontiers of the untamed wilderness beyond them, there seemed to be no end to the fighting, betrayal, and suffering Soraka witnessed. She watched, helpless, as mortals ignorantly broke the threads of destiny they could have woven together. Their lives were too short, she reasoned. They were simply unable to see the greater patterns, now lost.

But as Soraka lived among them, as one of them, trying to repair what little of the damage she could… something incredible and wholly unforeseen happened.

From the snarls and tangles and knots, the messy breaks in the great patterns, Soraka noticed a new, unintended design emerging—intertwined, and of a staggering complexity.

Unintended and wild, the mortals were forging new and unknown futures for themselves. From the celestial realm above, it had seemed like pure chaos; but with her new perspective, and blessed by the stars to stand against the erosion of time, Soraka now beheld an almost perfect beauty. Just as mortals had the deepest capacity for cruelty, so too did they possess infinite potential for kindness, and inspiration to rival anything among the stars.

Soraka realized her place was not to repair or replicate the celestial pattern. While a part of her craved the fixed, comforting destinies of the stars, she knew in her heart that static fates could not contain the unbridled, dynamic potential of mortality.

And so her work took on renewed vigor, driven to unlock the untapped possibilities of all she met. Soraka sought now to inspire and guide rather than shepherd, to see what unblazed trails each mortal would discover for themselves in their brief, radiant moment.

Over the millennia, legends of the Starchild have filtered through all the lands of Runeterra. Some tribes of the Freljord still speak of a far wanderer, a horned healer who soothed the icy bite of the most brutal winters. In the depths beneath Zaun, rumors float of a lilac skinned medic who would purify weary lungs from the ravages of the alchemical Gray. In troubled Ionia, the oldest myths of the Vastayashai’rei recall a seer who communed with the stars themselves, and called upon their light both to heal the wounded and scorch those who would do further harm to the First Lands.

Currently, Soraka calls the westernmost peaks of Targon her home. She watches over an isolated tribe of vastaya, teaching them her healing ways, and tending quietly to her own needs—though what brings her so close to the great mountain, or how long she will stay, only Soraka knows.

Many times, she has watched entire civilizations dance close to the brink of destruction, and she has learned that she cannot save those who do not wish it, nor force them to see what they will not.

All the same, Soraka is determined never to stop trying.

[snugglyporos]

The world is a changing place. Runeterra is daily rocked by the reemergence of gods and avatars and other such beings. Void creatures cause incursions upon the land, which common people are powerless to stop. Men of science and magic seek to reinvent what it means to be human, turning to machine conversion and drugs to enhance themselves.

This has been a long process; man has always sought to be more than they are. They delve into powers they should not have, delve into methods that strip from them what they were. Yet there is always one thread that unites all of them; there was a moment where they chose not to turn from the path they walked.

His true name is erased from the records of Piltover’s academia, as is his research. What is known is only what people who have met him have gotten from his own lips, and the story never seems to stay the same. Yet there are threads there too, that can be understood. 

He was a moderate physician and a brilliant surgeon, who gained favor with Piltover’s notoriously fickle clans by being able to perform procedures that would have been impossible for less capable hands. Though he took pride in this, his true passion was not in helping the sick or wounded, but improving the human condition. 

Piltover, after all, is the center of The Church of the Glorious Evolved, a religious cult that believes the flesh to be weak, and that only through machines can mankind prosper. Viktor’s own Glorious Evolution advocates the complete replacement of flesh with steel and iron, for the flesh is inferior to it. 

But this man disagreed. Flesh was not weak, for it possessed something the static forms of metal and iron did not; the ability to evolve. It could change, adapt, develop; all things metal could not. Machines could only do what they were built to do. They could not progress beyond what they were. Therefore, there was no glory there, no perfection, and the very idea of perfection ate at this man, for it seemed entirely counter to the notion of a man of science. 

However, he was not in a position to do very much about it as a mere surgeon and medical researcher. That is, until one of his patrons sent him a captured void creature for dissection. Of course, voidborn creatures decay rapidly after death, so dissection would require a very capable hand. He’d need to keep it alive, so he could study its inner workings. 

What he found was amazing to him. The voidborn are adaptive creatures; they possess no static form, not really. Their physiology changes depending on what they encounter. They exist in a state of rapid development, ensuring that no two were entirely alike, and that only the strongest or perhaps most effective would survive. 

He also found another curious development. They were infused with magic. Indeed, flesh and magic were so intertwined, that it was hard to say that they were separate. There had been theories of this of course; but there was little practical application to back it up. Here, he had his opportunity. 

He began leaning on his benefactors to bring him more captured void creatures, so that he might continue his research, all the while beginning to formulate a rather heretical belief in secret. The flesh was not weak, the will was weak. The flesh merely required a will that could shape it, and the power to do so. The Church of the Glorious Evolved was the ultimate expression of human weakness and fear, for it put trust in static, unchanging reality in an ever shifting world. The void were strong, not because of any dark magic or because of some divine blessing, but because they cast aside foolish notions of form, and focused entirely on function. Evolution was not a pathway with a beginning and an end. It was a constant process, one with no true end point, and to give in to fear and embrace static reality was to give into weakness. 

Transforming oneself into a machine to avoid disease and weakness was no virtue, and embracing the flesh was no vice. 

He began augmenting his own form with magic, infusing himself with magic on a more subtle level. Others used enchantments and spells and the like; this was pointless. He would not use magic, he would become magic, or at least, make his flesh the catalyst for his own work. Flesh and bone was as good a medium as any potion. 

His work progressed, and during that time he began experimenting on others in the name of ‘fixing’ them. People would come to him for surgical help, and he would provide it, but in secret he would experiment on their internal organs, altering them, testing to see what effects might occur. This worked well, until one day one of his patients was in an completely unrelated accident, and the surgeon opened the man up to find his internal physiology to be utterly alien. Organs that had no human equivalent functioned in nearly alien ways, and it did not take long for people to investigate the other patients he had worked with. 

His research discredited, his arrest called for, police raided his lab to bring him to trial, only to find him dead from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head. It was, perhaps, fitting, and neither the police or academics wished to delve too deeply into whatever madness he was looking into. Corrupted by the void creatures he studied, they said. 

But this was a ruse. He had taken someone, and he had fleshcrafted their body to look as his did. Face, dental records, finger and toe prints... this person was him, at least in appearance. The manipulation of the nerves to cause him to shoot himself was all that was needed to complete the illusion. 

He took a name for himself: Tzimisce. And he named his new discipline Vicissitude, meaning “the quality or state of being changeable.” Simply put, his belief was not in static machines or magical incantations, or even in limits or the oppression of form itself. His virtue was adaptability, change, mutation. 

Tzimisce’s craft was, and is, like no other. To him, to his touch, flesh and bone are like clay. He can craft and sculpt flesh with ease, with all the deftness that he once used to wield a scalpel. Only now, he puts his talents towards endless evolution of the self. 

Skin that is tougher than steel. Bones harder than titanium. Fireproof. Internal poison generation that can be excreted through the skin. Rapid healing and acidic blood. His body is equal parts canvass and scientific experiment; his endless search is for something stronger than him so that he might overcome it. 

Indeed, his journey has brought him from the pits of Zaun to the Freljord, from the jungles in the deep south to the gates of Noxus. He carries no political or ethical creed; such things are pointless and limiting. The virtue is in development, not in stagnation and stasis. To hold any ideal other than this virtue is to give in to human weakness; to be stuck rather than moving.

His greatest enemies, in his eyes, are those like Viktor and Camille, those who cling to machines and stasis as some sort of virtue when they are merely trapped in their own prisons. He considers Vladmir to be a rival, given his mastery of hemomancy, though he finds Vladmir’s foolish clinging to a static form to be bizarre. He lacks vision, clearly. He finds Swain to be interesting, if foolish, the same way he looks upon the magical sort in Noxus. Though they freely throw away morals, which is good, they stupidly look for power in dark pacts and other things. Being chained to some fell creature is hardly freedom or power, should one of them decide to reassert power over the leash. 

Most find Tzimisce to be utterly bizarre, regardless of his appearance, which is hardly ever the same twice. He seems to take no real interest in anything other than conflict, though he professes to only be interested in developing himself. Challenges are to be found and overcome. He expresses disdain for most magical and technological projects; they are unneeded when one’s flesh is the tool. Though he has some admiration for creations like Sion or Urgot, he thinks them incomplete. And most tend to find him... dangerous at the very least. A being who has no attachment to anyone or anything for long is only useful so long as you can keep the beast occupied after all. Though many hope his often remarked desire to face down one of the darkin will kill him and rid them of him. This of course, is unlikely; anything hoping to kill him only has one shot before he seeks to counter it. 

Perhaps the only reason anyone keeps him around is because he does great work. Tzimisce’s handiwork is legendary; he can cure just about any disease, replace any organ, transplant even the brain from one body to another. He can improve the human form to peak condition, create bodyguards or golems that are beyond the realm of any magical or machine creation. Limitations of the flesh do not exist, save fr the willingness of the creator. Granted, very few are entirely comfortable with a being that considers everyone he meets to be building materials. 

Thoughts? @consider-the-tentacle @noxian-rose @nihil-remedium @infinite-xerath @hook-and-chains @ask-kalista @saurianbutcher