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immortalbumblebee · 2 years ago

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Chapter 15: Support Beam

Baby Vi? Baby Vi.

Masterlist

“And you’re sure you can’t stay for some tea, pet?” Babette asked, the older Yordle trotting behind you as you stepped outside. The cold air washed over your exposed face, making you pull your bandana back up, snug over your nose.

Looking down at the woman, no more than three feet tall, you smiled at her behind the mask. “Sorry Ma’am, not this time.”

She smiles back at you, the lines on her face crinkling, showing the woman’s age (a feat, accounting for Yordles’ ability to live for centuries). “Well then, you be safe and try to stay warm tonight, alright? Don’t need you catching a cold, and tell those boys of yours I send my love!” Allowing her a motherly kiss on the cheek, you bid her one final farewell before turning and continuing on your way.

You embraced the feeling of falling into the crowd, a face among many as merchants called out to possible buyers. There were a few looming figures up above on the catwalks too, bridges merging sections of different levels along the chasm, highlighting Zaun’s disordered, haphazard engineering and architecture. You tried not to linger on those looming figures though, you’d learned long ago that people who tended to linger out in the open in the Underground were rarely the type of people you cared to associate with outside of business. Instead, you turned to the paper that Benzo had handed to you this morning, a list of names written in his messy script.

“Connol and Felicia…” You mused. “Wonder what they wanted to talk about.”

Rounds had started a while back, maybe about two or three years or so. A particularly bad round of enforcer raids had left some of the businesses in shambles and the people worried, so your small group of four had rallied up and organized a sort of club, one could call it? A group of people who all took turns taking a night to walk along the streets of the fissures (always armed), taking note of anything that could be an issue; enforcers sniffing around where they shouldn’t, reporting bodies washing up in the sewer pipes, helping any drunken idiots home, that sort of thing. But over time it also adapted to be a sort of…check-in with people? Someone could call on the apartment and say they wanted to talk with people about the revolution if it wasn’t an emergency, then someone would drop by and hear them out. It was honestly a great way to stay in tune with the people you were fighting with/for, a way to keep on the Undercity’s pulse, and even get new information on jobs or stuff happening across the river.

Just sucked that it was an all-night investment. But hey, not like you maintained a regular sleep schedule on a normal day.

You tucked your hands in your pockets as you continue your walk through the street, scanning your surroundings and smiling to the merchants and customers that you knew. A few times you noted some of the more shadowy sellers eyeing you from their booths; individuals selling live animals, “exotic” goods from the Shadow Isles or Freljord, and possibly even a booth selling what you’re pretty sure were hard drugs. If it exists, you can sell it in Zaun, right? You heard Benzo’s chastising voice in your head telling you to mind your business, so you turned the other way.

Not long after, you arrive at a simple metal apartment building; like thousands of others all over the Underground. It’s thin, carefully slotted in between two much thicker buildings as if it was an afterthought, filling in an alleyway with a cramped structure of silver and broken windows. As you’re about to walk in through the building’s front door, however, there’s the sound of a window opening and the loud screaming of a toddler.

“What the…” You look up to find a round, grinning face staring down at you, a little three-year-old girl happily calling to you from three stories up as she waves with both hands.

“Minny! Minny!” Young Violet calls, and you can’t help but laugh a little at the sight. “I’m up here!” Bright pink hair sat atop her hair, sticking out at every odd angle, matching her soft pink night dress.

“Yes, I see that Violet.” You smile and nod. “Please be careful, you don’t want to fall from all the way up there, right?”

“I…” She pauses, in the way that young children do mid-sentence, then continues to giggle “I won’t!”

“I’m going to walk up and come to your door, okay?” You ask, motioning to the door. “Be there when I knock?”

“Yeah!”

And sure enough, just as you knocked on the heavy wooden door of the family apartment, you could hear her shouting from the other side. It only took a moment for Connol to answer the door, emerging with Violet popped on his hip. He had obviously just gotten home from work himself, still partially clad in his factory coveralls with the sleeves tied around his waist, chest covered by a stained grey t-shirt. His violent red hair stuck up at any angle it saw fit, just like his daughter’s, and his eyes showed clear signs of exhaustion, but his smile was still easy and warming.

“Minny!” The young girl screamed! Atop her father’s hip, she now carried a stuffed rabbit and was contently sucking on one of the ears.

“Min, good seeing you!” Connol ushered you in, closing the door behind you. He has a kind voice, low in timbre with a slight rasp you’ve come to associate with those who’ve worked in the mines. “’m sorry for the mess, with both of us still working, and now with Violet…”

“Hey, you don’t need to explain anything to me.” You laugh, lowering your bandana. “You’ve seen our apartment, right? Hardly ones to judge.”

He chuckled at that, putting Violet down gently. “Ha, fair enough. What do we say to our guest, Sweetheart?”

Violet happily grabbed you by the hand and started leading you toward the seating area. Although “seating area” may be misleading, as the whole entirety of the apartment was maybe twice the area space of Jericho’s booth if that. A small couch was pushed off to the corner, placed among stacks of books and various baby toys, with a fridge and oven (that looked to be broken) right next to it as a ‘kitchen’. A bedroom, that is, a double mattress with a second-hand crib was blocked off with a curtain on the other side of the apartment, and then a little washroom walled off, although missing its door. But even with the crampedness, the three of them made it feel homey. The baby toys, dirty dishes, and clothes that Felicia was working on made the home feel lived-in, along with various bits and pieces you assumed were parts of Connol’s diy projects.

“Make yourself at home!” The small child spoke enthusiastically, plopping down on the couch, and dragging you beside her.

“Why thank you, Lass.” You smiled, ruffling her hair. Violet’s bright pink hair, similar to Connol’s when he was younger, was long and tattered, and you recalled Felicia’s ranting about how impossible it was for her to try and cut. The little girl apparently wanted to grow it out long, and was dead-set on the idea, despite her constantly getting it knotted and matted with all the running around she does.

“She’s just on her way to bed.” Connol smiled adoringly at his daughter’s beaming face as he locked the door and joined you. “Lil one wouldn’t tuck in before saying hello to you first, though.”

“And Felicia?” You ask.

“Held up at work.” Connol rolled his eyes, you could read the irritation loud and clear although he refused to say anything. “She’d be here if she could.”

“Give her my love when she gets back.” You nod, then turn back to Violet as she calls your name.

“Minny! Do the thing! Do the thing!” She’s yanking at your arm, and you laugh.

“What thing?”

“The thing with the metal!” She waves her hands in the air, making a little ‘oooo’ sound to emphasize her point.

“Oh, you mean this thing?” Beckoning with one of your fingers, a couple spare screws fly off from a nearby shelf and begin swirling around Violet’s head. She screams in delight, immediately beginning to grab at them, trying to catch them as they fly up and around her little head, but every time she does they fly out just out of her grasp.

“First time you did that she didn’t shut up about it for a week.” Connol recollected. “Kept yammering me to do it for her instead. You ever consider going into children’s entertainment, rather than metalworking?”

You snorted at this, finger swirling in a circular motion. “Pretty sure I’d be paid less than I already am, thanks.”

“Fair point.” The man shrugged with a smile.

“You’re turning four soon, aren’t you Violet?” You asked. “Next month if I’m remembering right.”

She hums a ‘yes’ but is still trying to catch the screws. “Then I’ll be almost as old as you, Minny!”

“Oh, I highly doubt that, Lass.” You laugh and make one of the screws gently poke her on the nose, which she seems to find downright delightful. “You make any new friends lately?”

“Not really.” She says, non-committally.

“She spends time with some of the other young ones at Mrs. Ayda’s when Fel’ and I are working,” Connol explains. “But other than that…we hate to say that we aren’t exactly married to the idea of her going out and playing on her own. I know it’s how we were raised, and she needs friends her own age, but…”

“Don’t worry, I get it.” You nod. “Niya has a niece who’s a little older than you, Violet. I can see if she’d be okay with coming over and playing with you a little. Would that be okay?”

“Okay.” The child doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. It’s sweet, to see the innocence, but also tugs at your heart a little.

“Alright, sweetheart. It’s time for bed.” Connol groans as he stands up, and you promptly put the screws away. The young girl begins to shout in protest, but it doesn’t last long before her father convinces her to give you a giant hug goodnight and toddle off to bed. He returns to the living room shortly, greeting you again with a tired smile. “Apologies if we’re taking up too much of your time.”

“Being able to see you guys is always worth it.” You reassure him. “Besides, I still have lots of time for my other check-ins.”

“Lots tonight?” He asks, pouring himself a cup of coffee from a pot. He wordlessly offers you one as well, which you accept.

“Nah, but we have a trader exchange a couple hours before sunrise.” You explain. “I’m running security, making sure no enforcers get too close, you know the jist.”

“Yeah…I really gotta get on doing more rounds.” As he sits down on the couch, he lifts his large round glasses to massage the bridge of his nose. There, sitting across from you holding his cup of coffee, and seeing the way his shoulders sag, you take in just how exhausted this man looks. As you exchange some small talk, discussing some of the regular inner workings of your city, you study him. Bloodshot eyes blend right in with his fiery hair tones, and his normally clean-shaven chin’s scraggly with steadily growing facial hair. The way he tenses his shoulders, and the slight groan whenever he moves his torso, you’re wondering when was the last time Connol had had a night off. Hesitantly, you lean forward, letting your arms prop up against your thighs.

“You doing okay, mate?”

“Me? I’m fine.” He waves you away. “Fatherhood and work keeping me busy is all.”

Your eyes furrow. “You been sleeping lately?” His only response is a low chuckle as he takes a sip of his coffee, and it’s the only response you need.

“Connol-” “I appreciate the concern Min, truly. But rest assured, I get enough lectures from my wife.” His words aren’t harsh, no sense of irritation,, just…resigned. You feel the need to push the issue, but ultimately nod your head in silent understanding.

“Vander’s got a midnight shift tonight ‘till sunrise, but then he’ll be home until the fights tomorrow night.” You consider. “If you drop off the little lass before then, he’ll be happy to watch her. I’ve got work until three, but then I can come home and watch her during the fights. She’ll be fed proper, and we can send her home with some hot meals. You take the day to rest, right?”

He smiles, fatherly. He’s got too many wrinkles on his face for a man just a couple years your elder. “We’re not in the business of taking handouts, Min. You know that.”

“Then what sort of jobs you got lined up? I know you’re one of Benzo’s main tip-offs from the docks, you let us in for, say, 35-55 depending on the shipment and we’ll call it square. Just, y’know, don’t fuck us this time? Don’t think we’ve forgotten about that Noxian guard mishap.”

He hesitates, taking a long sip from his drink while he thinks. But then he puts his mug down and reaches into his back pocket. “I did tell Benzo about the guards. But besides that…how’s a merchant vessel of Freljordian meats sound?”

A small smile graces your lips. “Sounds to me like we’ve got a deal, Pops.”

***

“-I was sailing just the other day,”

The crunch of pavement under your boot lines your words. Around you, the sounds of waves wash up and over the promenade’s shores. The bridge is up, as to discourage your kind from crossing, the lights of Piltover dancing across the way, and just a couple blocks away there’s a group of traders handing off about 30 hexes worth of supplies to Benzo and his coworkers.

“Out beyond Bilgewater Bay,”

Something between an old sailor's song and a prayer you remember from the pubs of your hometown. Although you know the importance of security detail, your mind is across the ocean, picturing a different life of crime out on the open seas. Akin to the tales of your mother’s past. But then, the sound of more footsteps on the pavement catches your attention.

“When, from the depths, she came my way,”

You’re whispering now, ducking in behind a nearby plate of wooden crates as you keep your ears open. The footsteps are getting louder now, approaching you at a slow, thoughtless pace. You hook your hand behind you, grasping the hilt of your knife.

“the Wing-Eared Sunken Lady…”

A familiar magical hum hits you as the person approaches, a metallic thrum that strikes your mind. It’s a frequency you know well, but can’t quite place.

“She swallowed me whole, me skiff and me soul,”

He crosses you, headed straight into the direction of the trade, and you don’t even need to think twice upon seeing the blue of his uniform before plunging your knife into his thigh.

Slowed down and taken by surprise, the Enforcer lets out a welp of pain and reaches for his baton, but you don’t give him the chance to react before you’re kneeing him in the kidney. He topples to the ground, and you wank out your knife, clutching its hilt in your hand as you deliver one more strike to his temple with the pummel. His body relaxes, unconscious.

“So I'm singin' this song in her belly,”

Not a moment passes before you’re using your bandana to apply pressure to the wound. The bleeding stops after a matter of minutes, and you tie the fabric in a tight knot just above the spot, just to be sure.

“And now I must wait 'til I meet my fate,”

You leave him by the entrance of the bridge, trapped with his own cuffs but in plain sight. It’s almost sunlight, the traders will be gone in a matter of minutes and the bridge will lower. He’ll be found within the half-hour.

So you walk away, using a quick swipe of your fingers to sheath your dagger back into place.

“In the Wing-Eared Sunken Lady..."

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