Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Description: As the hunt for Jinx continues, relationships grow more complex, and Caitlyn begins to unravel. Information on accomplices of the Black Rose comes to light, and a confrontation with a familiar face turns the entire mission upside down.
Tags: Medarda!Reader, Medarda Family Drama, character study, family drama, political intrigue, Caitlyn needs grief counseling, Vi needs anger management, Jinx needs therapy, everyone needs a drink, and Sevika does not get paid enough
Word Count: 6.3k
TW: depictions of violence
strike first, ask questions later
You have never been nervous before a campaign.Â
When plans are set in motion and soldiers are at the ready, you do not hesitate. This mission is no different. Despite the growing complexity of the situation and how it made your personal life more difficult, you know you can see it through.Â
However, youâll never forget the way Mel looked at youâthe accusation in her eyes, the protective ferocity. Just for her to leave shortly after, to find her boy genius. You are still fuming by the end of the evening, but you know that having a clear head before entering battle was imperative. The first days of this mission would involve dismantling the Chembarons and taking advantage of chaos to hunt for their main target.Â
So you spend the night in the warship, training into the late hours of the night, only to wake up early to meditate. You make a point not to join your mother for breakfast. As much as her wisdom is coveted, you are entering this of your own volition. Under the pull of your own intuition, and with your own motives.Â
As you prepare a field bag of essentialsâfirst aid, alternate weapons, sustenance, notes on the little youâve learned of Jinxâyou find Sevikaâs note. Crumpled, but still legible. Your heart clenches. Â
Apprehending Jinx might be a complex mission, but not impossible. Zaun is a large labyrinth that hated everything your âteamâ stood for in this moment, but you had the means to force answers out of them. To gain just enough knowledge to find your way to Jinx, with or without the citizensâ help. But there is one person youâd like to cross paths with, if time permits.Â
Youâve devised several options of escape and subterfuge if you encounter her on this mission. You doubt it will be necessary, but based on the information Vi has provided in the written reports given to Caitlyn, Sevika is someone Jinx might have trusted once. Though she would not give much informationâyou could sense sheâs holding back from giving what was not absolutely necessaryâit was enough to give you insight.Â
And to strike a mix of fear and anticipation in you.Â
The morning after the strike teamâs inception, you arrive at the Kiramman Manor early. You offered to go over the plans with Caitlyn early, but as you knock on the door, youâre greeted by a scowling Vi. You barely hold back a smirk.Â
âGood morning, Vi. May I come in?â You question haughtily, hands clasped behind your back. Your head tilts in playful curiosity.Â
âSure. Caitlyn says we wonât be leaving for another hour. Sheâs still uhâŚhaving her tea.â Vi grumbles, opening the door wider.Â
âThatâs fine. Iâd like a few moments to settle before we leave anyway. I want to ensure weâre all on the same page.â You profess, before crossing the threshold and moving past the pink-haired girl, further into the manor. It is deadly silent, save for the flipping of pages and scribbling you can hear in the sitting room. Alongside Viâs burly footsteps.Â
She crowds you, like she doesnât trust a single move you make. And itâs greatly amusing. Before entering the room and giving away your presence to your soon-to-be leader for the day, you turn to look at her girlfriend.Â
âYou should stop sulking. Itâs very unbecoming. Iâm here to help, Vi. Thereâs nothing to be jealous of.â You tease, trying not to sound as smug as you feel. She sees you as the threat you are, and that is satisfying. But it could also cause complications if left unchecked.Â
Vi scoffs, as if offended by the very notion. âIâm not jealous. Just suspicious. I donât like the idea of a bunch of enforcers running around my city searching for my sister with the intel I gave them. Makes my stomach turn. On top of that⌠Youâre a ticking time bomb, I can feel it in my gut. And as much as Caitlyn suddenly seems to trust youâI absolutely do not.âÂ
You laugh, loud enough to make Viâs scowl more pronounced. To add insult to injury, you then give the woman an exaggerated sad face. âAww, are you starting to feel guilt for ratting out your sister? You donât trust me? You donât like me, Vi? Good. You wonât like me when this is over. I can guarantee it. And I will continue sleeping soundly at night.âÂ
Vi scoffs, tries to appear unaffected.âBased on what Caitlyn said, youâre not sleeping as soundly as you like to pretend you do. Youâre a mess underneath that mask.â She snarls, finally snapping back in a way you hadnât been expecting. A scowl grows on your face, and you step closerâbut Caitlynâs presence suddenly breaks you both out of your standoff.Â
âGood, youâre here. Letâs go over the plan. Iâve mapped out the hot spots for Grey implementation. I need a second opinion.âÂ
âOf course, Lady Kiramman. At your service.â You say, eyes still trained on Vi. Your hands clasp behind your back on instinct as you turn back into the soldier you need to be for this. She takes you into the drawing room, where maps and scribbled notes cover every available surface.Â
Eliminating the Chem-Barons is a necessary evil to move about The Lanes with ease. The increasingly volatile gang war going on would only impede the mission. You spent the prior evening studying up on the recent events and dynamics to understand just what youâre walking into.Â
Though you know the bare minimum about them individually, one name that sparks your interest is Madam Margotâthe same contact you gained from Sevika. Youâre the first to suggest hitting her warehouse to eliminate any attempts to export illicit goods or to leave opportunities for Chem-Barons to join forces as word of the Strike Team gained traction.Â
But thereâs one thing that grates on your mind. âI hope this isnât overstepping.â You start an hour or so after arrival, now sitting in the drawing room with Caitlyn, Steb, and Lorcan. They watch you with thinly veiled mistrust. âBut, I think the use of The Grey this early might be unwise. The undercity is in an uproar currently. Implementing The Grey would only rile them up further. We should be stealthy to avoid building suspicion too early. Going in guns blazing would leave us at a disadvantage.âÂ
âHow so? If we weaken them all at once and find our targets, the job will be done. No need to linger. The Grey gives all the advantage we need.â Caitlyn rebuts rigorously.Â
âAdvantage at what cost? Itâs an aggressive stance that could be useful in an active war zoneâsureâbut in this current climate, youâre risking too many innocent lives in the process of this pursuit. If we plan accordingly, Iâm confident we can extract Jinx with minimal damage to the Undercity.â You relay, doing your best to ride the line of insistence and wisdom.Â
If this were any other kind of mission, youâd veto the use of chemical warfare immediately, especially when the end goal was a single fugitive. If there was a discussion surrounding a takeover of Zaun, youâd reconsider, but this level of warfare could only spell trouble.Â
Though The Grey would make interrogation and intimidation easier, you find it to be an unnecessary evil at the level Caitlyn proposes. Jinxâs attack surely emboldened the masses. Finally, a modicum of revenge against the oppressors who worsen their lives. Agitating the already shaky foundations of an unstable city. Pushing now would spark a revolution, which would only complicate things further.Â
It takes hours of negotiation and barely concealed frustration to convince Caitlyn to hold off. The longer you talk, the clearer it becomes that there are far more problems than just apprehending the girl and taking down the criminals leading this undercity.
Caitlyn was hellbent on revenge.
And revenge made people blind. It made them weak to their own emotionsâyou would know. But at the end of the day, if her dramatic pursuits lent themselves to your vision, who were you to object?Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
The warehouse is in a dilapidated and eerily quiet part of the Lanes. Civilians know better than to venture that far, or so close to the territory of a well-known Chem-Baron. The Strike Team goes in under extended cover, after hours of planning infiltration. Caitlyn leads and, with a swift hand signal, sends you in alongside Steb to bust down a rickety window and enter the premises.
Though youâve spoken with Steb and Lorcan during briefings, you can see in their eyes that they donât trust this out-of-place Noxian to fulfill the plan. You canât blame them.Â
At first glance, the place doesnât seem impressive. It holds rows and rows of concealed crates alongside workbenches and bloodied toolkits.Â
Youâre the first to fearlessly rip back the tarps and coverings to reveal contraband, drug paraphernalia, and brand-new leather kink gear. It made sense considering the work Margot was hailed for, but the lavish drug-laced cosmetic items and luxury wine brands you recognized from Melâs own stashâitems headed to Piltoverâwere the real prize.Â
âWhat the hell is this?â Caitlyn snarls, more to herself than anyone. She looks over your shoulder as you work through the crates to discover more Piltover-specific brands with that now familiar purple glint youâve come to recognize as Shimmer.Â
âEvidence. We must arrange for the confiscation of as many of these shipments as soon as possible. But only after Margot has been apprehended.â You suggest, but in the middle of your words, you spot an unfamiliar sigil on the bottom of a crate. A calling card, glued to the bottom.Â
With quick sleight of hand, you manage to pull it off and pocket it for later. Itâs small, with dark red and white coloring. If youâd studied up on the important families of Piltover, maybe youâd recognize the sigil and the family it belonged to, but alas.Â
Youâd have to risk exposure and ask Mel for help. For now, you coordinate with Caitlyn to comb through the books left behind to find the brothel Margot calls home.Â
The first raid is the most difficult.Â
Madam Margot is easy to locate; her neon-laden brothel is not prepared for The Grey to flood its ventilation systems. Civilians and patrons of the seedy establishment spill out, coughing and choking on the Grey as they stumble over themselves to escape. To find relatively clean air. A feat that proves nearly impossible in this polluted city.
As Steb and Lorcan redirect The Grey to Margotâs office, you catch a glimpse of your âleaderâ faltering. She looks unsure, eyes flickering between her subordinates and the choking citizens. You pull Caitlyn to the side by her arm. Your eyes are hard and possess a hint of frustration.Â
âPull yourself together.â You command calmly, pulling on your own military training to force her to focus. âThis is what you wanted. Youâve come this far, donât hesitate. Trust your instincts. Madam Margot will prove valuable for questioning. If you back out now, we lose everything. You lose everything.âÂ
Caitlyn nods, gratitude flooding her striking blue eyes. Your calm orders bring her a sense of motivation. When the coast is clear, you slip on your mask and follow inside like a good soldier.Â
Her office is on the third floor, and by the time the team arrives, she senses the attack and is preparedâbrandishing a weapon as she coughs and sputters against The Grey. Her office is hit the worst, to incapacitate her to the point sheâs no longer a threat. She does her best, but you dodge easily, the net is deployed, and she falls to the ground in a heap of coughs and wheezing valves.Â
The office is a treasure trove for you. Not so much for the Jinx extraction, but to your delight, your personal mission seems to be making progress. As Steb and Lorcan pull her away in handcuffs, led by Caitlyn, who does her best to gain information on the remaining Chem-Baron, you dig through the desk. In a hidden drawer, you find a ledger with many useless names and appointment dates, descriptions of the business meetingsâbut one sticks out to you.Â
The merchant Amara is marked as a supplier for Madam Margot, who signs her last name with a flourishing symbol that resembles the one on the crates. The calling card found earlier must have belonged to her. It made no sense that a Piltovian Merchant might have answers connected to the Black Roseâs lingering presence. But this is your only lead, so you take it. Though something is nagging in the back of your mind.Â
Itâs almost too easy. Like all the pieces are falling together. Amaraâs name just so happened to be marked with the same symbol found in that warehouse. No last name, just a sigil. In some ways, it makes sense for her to conceal her identity in such a way, but it feels like these breadcrumbs were placed for you to find.Â
A sense of unease takes over you as you store the information away for later.
By the time you return to the Strike Team and relay the lack of Jinx-related information, youâve placed the worry at the back of your mind.Â
The next Chem-Baron is not difficult to find. Margot tries her best not to give him up, but unfortunately for her, youâre thorough to a fault.Â
Chossâs headquarters are mentioned more than once in the ledgers and notes you skimmed over. Delivering Margot to the waiting Enforcers proves annoying. As you hand her off, the nagging sensation grows. But in a different way.Â
There are eyes on the team. Not just civilians, but the Undercityâs finest criminals watch with bated breath as one of their leaders is taken awayâeyes burned and her breathing still shaky. You look out into the crowd, eyes scanning to find a familiar face.
You see her for a split second. Hidden beneath a poncho that is bulkier than normal, her fierce gaze blazes into your soul before she disappears into the crowds of onlookers. Lost to you once more. Your heart breaks again, and you resist every urge to follow after her.Â
But youâve got a job to do. Playing the part of a good soldierâas you have been taught since childhoodâwill yield more results than chasing this criminal.Â
Choss is easy to apprehend. Word has spread about the raid, and though he tries to put up a fight, his feeble body gives in. His guards lost to the chemical warfare. The Grey proves to be a useful tool in making the takedown simple. He, too, is ripped from his hiding place to face consequences and questioning.Â
By the time heâs in handcuffs, you know for certain youâre still being watched. The eyes burn your back, making the hairs on the back of your neck crawl.
Sooner than youâd like, paths would be intertwined, and lines would be crossed. You want nothing more than to rip yourself away from this work to find her, but the risk is too high. A small part of you hopes she finds you first, but by the time the team returns topside, you still see no trace of her. However, a flash of blue hair catches your attention. Panicked pink eyes follow your every movement.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
The next few days are rife with busy work. You and Mel barely exchange glances as you return only for show. Your needs are met on the warship, but you donât want to abandon Mel completely. The few moments of crossing paths are better than nothing.Â
You sleep on the warship to maintain your peace. The sadness in her eyes makes you feel sick, but youâve got a job to do.Â
Now that the first phase is complete, operations are moving swifter than initially planned. When the Chem-Barons are apprehended and taken to Stillwaterâa place you hadnât heard of until the briefing shortly after the successful raidâyou lament the chance to interrogate them.Â
But making such a move so quickly would put too much of a spotlight on your behavior. Besides, there are other things to contend with.Â
You now have the information you need, and youâre now one step closer to learning more about the merchant Amara and how she could lead you to your true target. But it has to wait, at least until Jinx is apprehended. Caitlyn is adamant, growing more frustrated by the hour as her target goes unarrested.Â
The strike team spends days searching various possible hiding spots, interrogating locals who happen upon them, and hunting for clues. But you come up with nothing. You have the feeling that if youâd been going at this alone, results could have been made fasterâbut you have no choice but to play along. However, things are coming to a head.Â
âWe should have used The Grey from the beginning.â She snarls in the drawing room of the Kiramman estate. Itâs been turned into a strategy room of sorts, but thereâs nothing strategic about this meeting. Itâs pure venting, which you canât blame Caitlyn for. âWeâd have her by now, snuffed her out and into the open. Or at the very least into action.âÂ
âMaybe so. Or maybe the locals would have turned on us faster and made this entire endeavor more difficult. Patience is key, Lady Kiramman.âÂ
âPatience is getting us nowhere! I will not let her string me along until she disappears for good. Sheâs toying with us!â Caitlyn nearly yells, slamming her hand down on the coffee tableâshaking the cup of tea you were sipping. With a scowl, you stand and look up at the tantruming noble.Â
âBe that as it may, we have the upper hand. She has no idea when weâll strike next, and our reconnaissance will bring results. Weâd have even more results if you were toâ
ââDonât say it.â Caitlyn snaps. âVi already made her stance clear; sheâs not assisting us in this. As a matter of fact, I havenât seen her in days, IâŚI can see how this is taking a toll on our relationship. Understandably so. ButâŚI need results. I canât fail.âÂ
A sigh falls from your lips. Though you want to remain neutral in this love spat, you realize in this moment how detrimental it is to your mission. Caitlyn is a strong-willed, intelligent young woman, but sheâs in a vulnerable place in the midst of grieving. Vi was her anchor, and without her, Caitlyn was unmoored and sinking.Â
You reach out to place a comforting hand on her shoulder. âWeâll get results, I promise youâŚAlthough I think itâs unwise, I told you to trust your instincts. If you strongly feel that using The Grey will lead you down the path you wish to takeâŚIâll follow your lead. Just be mindful of what youâre not seeing behind the need for revenge.â You reassure, taking a chance to reach down and take her hand in yours.Â
She feels the scars, just barely managing to gasp under her breath before relaxing into the comfort. You squeeze her hand just a bit.Â
The Strike Team returns with a renewed objective, gas masks constantly on to hide from the onslaught of chemicals in the air.Â
The first hints come in the form of dolls. Little neon painted dolls that litter the places Jinx used to frequent, allegedly. Set into traps to scare the team as they continue the search. Then scattered colorfully painted messages, crude depictions of them stalking around the Lanes.Â
You chuckle and lean down to pick one up. The one meant to look like you, with dark braids splattered with red, a poor rendition of a Medarda Tunic, and eerie yellow eyes. Your mini face is twisted in a cruel smile. You crush the doll in one hand before standing.
âShe just canât help herself, can she?â You husk, partially charmed by the artistic motif. This young woman seems to have quite the style about her. But shiny shit gets shot. Youâd take her down a peg soon enough.Â
âNope, she canât. Sheâs got a flair for the dramatic, even as a fugitive.â A familiar but surprising voice calls. Itâs Vi, in her streetwear, looking worse for wear. She must have been hiding in the shadows, trying to be unassuming as she followed along to find her sister. You scowl, but put on a good face to stop any suspicion.Â
âLook who finally decided to show up.â You mutter, barely concealing the disdain in your voice. But Caitlyn pays you no mind, her eyes firmly planted on the woman before her. She stutters and trips over her words to address the pink-haired woman.Â
âVi, IâWhy are youâ
âNot joining the team, cupcake. I think weâve both hit the same dead end. On purpose. If we put our heads together, weâll find her.âÂ
âAnd then what, you obstruct justice and attack us to keep your dear sister safe?â You snap, narrowing your eyes at Vi.Â
âListen, you may not believe me, but I want her apprehended as much as anyone else. She has to be held accountable for her crimes, one way or another. My only stipulation is that you donât harm her. Sheâs scrappy but⌠try your best.â Vi settles, her voice breaks.
For a moment, you allow yourself to feel sympathy.Â
This must be how Mel feels about you. The fear in Viâs eyes, alongside the frustration, the anguish, and the pain. Surely thatâs Melâs reality as she waits for you to return. As she wonders how far gone you really are.Â
âFine. Weâll handle her with kid gloves.â You agree, meeting in the middle for once.
Vi joins the next debrief reluctantly, going over the areas theyâve already gone over and shaking her head at suggested areas. They settle on a spot in the seedier part of town, a rundown arcade overrun with shimmer addicts and budding gangs. They donât scatter at the sight of an obvious strike team, but they do when Caitlyn boldly brandishes The Grey.Â
In the midst of the chaos, Vi catches the eye of a familiar face. She rushes up to him, interrogates him on the whereabouts of her sister, and as it turns out, he has just enough information to lead them in the right direction. A relic of a bygone era, a temple now used as a hiding spot for Jinx to avoid The Grey.Â
How convenient.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Steb and Lorcan are left behind to watch the entrance to the temple at Caitlynâs command. The ruins are beautiful, and as you venture deeper, you wonder what the place looked like centuries ago.Â
On the walls are comforting depictions of Zaunâs most prominent legendâJanna, the goddess of wind. The hope she brings to Zaunites is unparalleled. It only makes sense that Jinx would find comfort in this place.Â
The farther you descend, the more certain you become that the blue-haired fugitive will show herself here. As you get closer to the center of the temple, Vi grows tense. She looks you up and down before turning to Caitlyn.
âWe donât need a Noxian soldier at our backs; we can handle this just the two of us,â Vi complains, trying not to scowl at you. But she fails.Â
You snort. Her disdain for you is understandable, but her timing is atrocious.Â
âYouâre going to need me. Thereâs no telling what tricks that girl has up her sleeve. Sheâs luring you into an obvious trap, and you want me to leave? Not happening.â You state with a cold, mocking laugh, pushing past the pink-haired girl and hitting her shoulder to make your point.Â
You like Vi. Sheâs entertaining and headstrong, but her insistence on making this task more difficult than necessary infuriates you. In a way, you understand her. If your sister were a fugitive, youâd be hunting her down yourself and eliminating anyone who attempted to stand in your wayâbut that is not the case.Â
âWe need her expertise to ensure a smooth capture. Liya is right, Vi. Weâre practically walking into a trap, and we cannot risk losing her. Not now. I wouldnât have invited her into this team if I didnât trust her expertiseâ
ââYouâve known her for a few days!â Vi interrupts, yelling as anger gets the best of her. Anger and fear. âI have no fucking idea why you trust her, but itâs obvious sheâs hiding something.â
âThe guilt eats you up at night, doesnât it?â You snap, glaring at the woman. She wilts briefly under your stare, bracing for the venom falling from your lips. âYou feel responsible for what she did. When you see me wince in painâwhen you see Caitlynâs suffering and drowning in her griefâŚYou see the result of your failure to stop your precious sister. Donât blame your shortcomings on meââ You growl, fed up with her interference and thinly veiled accusation.Â
A flash of rage that flickers in Viâs eye, telling you quickly that youâve toed too far over the line. She lunges at you.Â
Thanks to your injury limiting your range of motion, she gets a good punch in. One good hit to your jaw that sends you reeling for a moment. Pain blooms where her beefy fist lands, and you must force your body not to crumble, lest you embarrass yourself. Caitlyn gasps. Before she can move, you retaliate.Â
Pure spite leads you to tackle Vi to the ground, despite the great pain it causes. Thanks to Lestâs handy work, your eyes briefly flash purple as vitality returns. Though Melâs request for pain management proved useful, modifications had to be made for the sake of this mission.Â
A rush of pure adrenaline soars through you.Â
You dodge Viâs jabs and attempts to dislodge you from atop her. Sheâs strong, but her uncontrolled rage makes her sloppy. Her form is clearly self-taught, leaving blind spots you exploit easily. She must have an old injury on her left side; as she guards it more fiercely than her rightâa subconscious choice she regrets as you slam your fist between her ribs.Â
She guards her face wisely as well, but your brutal jabs to that open side cause her to cry out in pain. The sound fuels you even more, even as she finally manages to push you off her. You land on your side with a painful thud that blinds you briefly, giving Vi enough time to lunge at you again. Her amateur attacks, as strong as they are, are no match for your training.Â
Eventually, Caitlyn manages to pull you two apart. She looks both furious and exhausted, tears bud in her blue eyes. She has a hand on Viâs chest, keeping her from moving toward you again.Â
âFucking hell, stop! This is pointless. You both look ridiculous, rolling around like a bunch of school children.â Caitlyn exclaims, exasperated with the team sheâs found herself with. Â
You stand and brush the dust off your tunic. Remaining as composed as possible, while Viâs chest continues to heave with anger.Â
âWe have work to do, Violet. If you donât mind leading the way, maybe we can get on with this mission so we can go our separate ways.â You growl before motioning for Vi to move. She glares, reluctantly following down into the depths of Jannaâs temple.Â
It is agreed upon that Vi will go first to lure her sister out into the open. Caitlyn will stay behind in a perch, preparing for any open shot. You stand in the shadows, awaiting movement to join the fray while looking out for more traps. Your dominant hand trembles with anticipation. You clutch the drakehound blades at your back and ready your body with slow, intentional breaths.Â
The bright neon scrawlings on the pillars inside the chamber are eerie depictions of what must be Vi and Jinxâs childhood. Sadness fills you as you look down at the story of two broken sisters. Though Vi tries to deny that this fugitive is her sister, and convince herself that the criminal before her is nothing more than a twisted blaspheme of her memory, you see through it.Â
There is clear love between them. None of you would be here otherwise; it only makes the situation all the more upsetting. Is this what Mel sees when she looks at you? She must see you in the same painful light Vi sees her baby sister.
From a distance, you see Caitlyn give the signal. She readies her shot, aiming for the head as Jinx steps out into the open.Â
âIâm not gonna let you stain her memory anymore.â Vi finishes, voice pained as she lifts her fists again. Discarding any vulnerability to be ready for a fight that is inevitable.Â
A chill runs down your spine as Jinx responds. Her next words feel like an echo of your own internal monologue.Â
âSo come stop me. Because no matter what I do, I just canât seem to die.â She husks, her voice echoing through the temple.
Caitlyn fires, shaking you from the brief moment of understanding. You study the image of your target, as the bullet flies past Viâs headâinto a mirrored surface. Your first glimpse of Jinx.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Two long blue braids flow down her back. The girl wears tattered, vaguely styled clothing, and her eyes glimmer pink. Manic energy burns bright in them, alongside something sorrowful. She turns around to look at her sister, a gun in hand, and Vi lifts her fists in preparationâher fists now adorned with hex-tech improved gauntlets whose origins you question greatly.Â
To know this girlâwho looked no older than 19âwas the cause of your pain was jarring. She looked like some baby-faced troublemaker, not the wanted fugitive Caitlyn dedicated every waking moment to finding. But babyfaced or not, she was going to be apprehended. Tonight.Â
The sound of the bullet going off sends you into a hyperfocus. Time seems to move more slowly. At the last moment, you notice the glint of a reflection. Caitlynâs target is a mirrored surface that shatters as the bullet pierces it.Â
Echoing teasing laughter fills the space, adding to the eerie atmosphere. In a flash, Jinx stands above a stone pillarâtowering over you all with a large weapon in hand. A mini gun, for fuckâs sake.Â
You rush forward, releasing your blades from the holsters on your back and moving to defend Caitlyn, as a blur of a body emerges to slam its foot into her.Â
The trap has been sprung, and unfortunately, it seems youâre all playing right into her hands. When the newest attacker comes into focus, just as Caitlyn manages to dodge a bite from the odd protruding weapon on your opponentâs arm, you recognize her.Â
You both seem to gasp at the same time, and against your better judgment, the blades lower slightly.Â
Sevika stands before you, looking just as shocked as you feel. She opens her mouth to say something, confusion marring her featuresâalongside a touch of betrayal that will haunt your dreamsâbut gunshots pull your focus as Jinx fires at Vi, who protects herself just barely with a makeshift shield.Â
Sevika takes the moment of distraction to charge at Caitlyn, slamming her new arm into the pillar, millimeters away from the other womanâs head. She rolls away, and you take the moment to strike. Apprehending Jinx is of great importance, but eliminating the bigger physical threat is the best strategic move.
So, against your heartâs desire, you elongate the bladesâwatching as embers of blue spark and bring them to lifeâ before swinging gracefully and forcing Sevika to take a step back from Caitlyn. You launch a blade into the pillar beside Caitlynâs head, separating her from Sevika to give her space. The chains attached to your vambrances pull painfully, but as Caitlyn gets up, you lock eyes with Sevika once more.Â
Trying your best to communicate discreetly how much you donât want to hurt her. But in the end, you hurt everyone you love. A sad chuckle falls from your lips. Maybe you and Jinx have something in common after all.Â
Caitlyn aims again, but she wonât have time to get her shot off. You pivot on your feet and launch at Sevika again, only to watch as Cailtynâs gun malfunctionsâat the exact time your blades jump with streaks of blue and white light. They electrocute you, causing you to cry out in pain. Youâd drop them if you could, but you have no choice but to hold on as the moment passes.Â
Sevikaâs eyes jump to you with slight concern, but she still takes her opportunity, following your line of thinking and ramming you into the wall to subdue youâher right hand wrapped loosely around your throat. A rush of arousal falls over you. The room becomes background noise as you get up close and personal with her once again.Â
Sheâs heaving with rage and effort; the growl under her breath makes your head spin. You stare into each otherâs eyes, hearts beating at the same frantic paceâyou feel it in the thrum of her pulse. You open your mouth to say something. Anything. But Jinxâs rocket explodes beside you, sending you both flying once more.Â
The fight rages on. As your ears ring, you do your best to break free of Sevikaâs onslaught. To see her fight is a gift; she moves like sheâs been fighting her entire life. Thereâs confidence and brutality to her style that makes you hungry. Caitlyn holds her own, but sheâs quickly pulled into a headlock you must break her out of.Â
But then you hear Vi cry out. Somethingâs truly gone wrong. Hextech has a fatal flaw none of you could have foreseen; each of your weaponsâ Jinxâs, even Sevikaâs armâseems to break apart. To tear from this reality. When Sevikaâs arm malfunctions at the same time as Caitlynâs gun, she falls backâgroaning as the jolt leaves her scars inflamed and brighter than before.Â
Caitlyn straddles her, taking the moment to get her revenge. Her weapon flashes as she holds it up against Sevikaâs neck, her scars flash white and blue in time with the broken machinery in an odd display of connection.
Your back burns, and you fall to your knees briefly, but the fight must not end. Not yet. Not until Jinx is apprehended. Everything in you wants to pull Caitlyn off of Sevika, but that would only cause more questions. So you do the next best thing.
Vi and Jinx fight like mad dogs, so caught up with one another, you have a split second to interruptâreaching out to pull one of Jinxâs braids to force her closer. If you can get your hands on her, you could end this.Â
She shrieks in panic as sheâs pulled off Vi with a thud. She glares at the unfamiliar face. You launch yourself at her, interrupting the family reunion to slam your knee into her chest, stealing her breath for a moment. Vi finishes it off, rejoining the fight against her frantic sister whose fists are much harder than they lookâ then a shot rings out.Â
A finger goes flying. Vi pins Jinx to an altar thatâs almost too perfectly placed.Â
As you try to readjust, a new surprise enters the arena.Â
A child with gold glimmering eyes who stops you in your tracks. She grabs the gun off the floor and flings herself between the sisters, blindly pointing at Vi as she shuts her eyes tight. Her head tucked into Jinxâs chest. Like sheâs shielding herself from the carnage sheâs about to unleash. All in the name of protecting this fugitive.
To your great shock, Caitlyn, who has a shot lined up, does not hesitate. Even Vi disengages her gauntlets, and you lower your blades as you step closer.Â
But Caitlynâs finger hovers over the trigger. You slam your weapon into the barrel of her gun, forcing it down to the groundâbut not before the gun in the little girlâs hands is shot away.Â
Vi jumps off the platform, eyes wide with worry.Â
âSheâs just a kid!â She cries out, confused and panicked. Â
You look down at Sevika, who lies injured. Her eyes flare with worry. This girl means something to her.Â
Caitlyn looks deranged, possesed by her grief, not wavering in her aim as she spits, âMove! Sheâs not getting away again!âÂ
âThe fight is over.â You husked, out of breath but willing to fight for this innocent life. âWe can make the arrest withoutâ
She shoots again, the bullet landing on Viâs gauntlet.
She wonât stop. Part of you canât blame her. Grief has led her this far, and she refuses to allow it all to be in vain. Vi calls out to her, heartbroken by the betrayal and by how far her lover has fallen. You try to maneuver around them, to force the child off Jinx and to secure her safetyâbut Sevika beats you to it.Â
She moves to switch a lever.Â
In the distance, Jinx grows frantic. The distress in her voice makes it shrillâbut youâre too focused on the sudden gust of wind knocking you off your feet to take in what she says.Â
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Caitlyn and Vi go flying. Itâs only by the grace of the gods that you manage to shift your weight and slam one blade into the ground for purchase.
You lock eyes with Sevika as you fight to stay in the room, despite the strong winds. She shields Jinx, and the little girl with her body like her life depends on it. Growls of effort fall from your lips as you slam the other blade into the ground to keep you steady, but itâs no use.Â
Despite putting all your might into holding on, you lose your grip and go flying into a stone wall.Â
Vaguely, you hear a familiar gruff voice above you, before unconsciousness takes over.Â
A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long! This chapter just beat my ass. I had such trouble writing this and trying to follow along with a few canon moments while inventing something new. I'm still unsure tbh, but I wanted to put this out finally. Lots went on, everyone is fighting, and now Sevika and Liya have reunited under the worst possible circumstances. The next chapter will be fun, there's a possible Sevika POV and some insight into her life and her arc. We got some hints of it in this chapter.
But I'll stop yapping, thanks for reading! See you soon đ
Hi, I have a melvika request. Modern au Mel a business owner and Sevika stay at home wife and has an online job. Mel comes home frustrated from work and Sevika dicks down Mel to take the frustration out. With daddy kink and spanking
Hi Anon, tysm for this request!! Here it is, I hope you enjoy!
Description: Mel has a long, frustrating day as a successful business owner, and needs her stay-at-home wife, Sevika, to help her let go.
cw: dirty talk, spanking, daddy kink, strap-on sex, light manhandling, squirting
word count: 2.5k
Mel has had a horrid day.Â
When she started her luxury jewelry business all those years ago, she drastically underestimated the amount of stress and strife it would take to keep the thing afloat.Â
Eloraâs been in her ear all day, updating her on the delayed shipments, disputing design choices, and trying to solve issues with ethical ruby shipments from Ionia. In short, everything that could go wrong is going wrong currently. She wants to scream, to throw something and burst into tears all at the same time but her position as CEO dictated she act with more grace while on the clock.
Mel makes it back just in time to hide the mini tantrum she has in the car. The second she slams the door, she lets out a frustrated scream that is so out of character and hits the steering wheel repeatedly, and just hard enough to bruise her delicate hand. She doesnât want to bring this back home to her loving wife, but the moment she steps in the house, Sevika can sense her frustration. The woman always manages to see right through her.Â
Sheâs sitting on the couch, elegant reading glasses perched on her strong nose as she reads through the last of her work. She works from home at a small but lucrative marketing firmâa nice contrast to Melâs get-up-and-go lifestyle. But she ceases working the minute she spots her wife in the hallway.Â
The woman drops her work bag dramatically in the hall, huffing and puffing as she slips her heels off and leaves her jewelry in the dishes beside their front door. Sevika dips her glasses down to the tip of her strong nose to see Mel more clearlyâthe move turns the other womanâs insides into mush.Â
âBad day, huh?â She husks, tossing her work laptop onto the coffee table. She pats her lap, a sign for Mel to take a seat. As tempting as the offer is, Mel refuses. Sheâs too pent up to be so close to her wife without ruining her night with her sour mood.Â
So she moves to the liquor cart sitting in the corner of their living room. As sheâs pouring herself a hefty glass of expensive scotch, she replies. âAbsolutely horrible. Iâm seconds away from dissolving the company completely. But alas, my staff is depending on me. If I show weakness, they crumble.â She pauses for a moment, letting out a tense sigh before downing a large portion of her drink. She sheepishly looks over to her wife. âHow was your day, my love? Have you eaten?âÂ
âSame old same old. I did eat. Thereâs some mango chicken curry in the fridge from that place you likeâŚBut it can wait; you need to unwind. I can see the tension all over your body, baby.â Sevika rumbles, coming to stand and move closer to her wife.Â
Mel freezes as Sevika takes the glass from her hands and puts it down. Her strong hand comes up to caress her waist. âWhat do you need tonight? Do you need your devoted wifeâŚor do you need Daddy to fuck you so stupid you forget about work for just a little while?â She husks, eyes low lidded as she watches for Melâs reaction. The younger woman gulps.Â
âDaddyâŚplease, I need you.â Mel whispers, her voice shaking as she gives into her deepest desires. Sevika hums, satisfied with the choice her wife has made.This isnât the first time sheâs had to play this role to help Mel work through her frustrations. With all the stress put upon her in the business, some days she craves the release of her wife taking control from her.Â
âGood girl. Go upstairs and get the harness out for me. I know just the thing to help.âÂ
Mel nods nervously, gulping down her anticipatory excitement. She tries to move away and follow her wifeâs suggestion, but sheâs yanked closerâtheir hips meeting in a way that makes the younger woman whimper. Sevika says nothing, but she looks Mel over like sheâs searching for somethingâbefore pulling her into a hungry but brief kiss.Â
By the time Mel makes it upstairs, sheâs nearly trembling in excitement.
The harness is easy to find, carefully placed in the bedside drawer that holds all their toys. She picks her favoriteâthe classic selection, sleek and black, that leaves Sevikaâs plump ass out. She places it on the bed before beginning to strip. Removing the last layers of her work persona feels like liberation. As the expensive and perfectly tailored clothes hit the floor, the frustration still rings through her bodyâbut itâs coupled with excitement.Â
She has just enough time to select her favorite dildo when she hears Sevikaâs purposefully heavy footsteps coming up to meet her. She places it on their bed before gracefully sitting beside itânaked and already dripping.Â
The woman comes inside, clutching the expensive scotch bottle alongside the glass Mel poured. The sleeves of her button-up are rolled up, her glasses discarded. Sevika lets out a deep chuckle. âYou donât listen very well, do you? I said pull out the harness, nothing else.â She grips Melâs cheeks and forces the younger woman to meet her gaze. âGet on all fours and keep your eyes on the headboard.âÂ
Melâs mouth opens in disbelief. âBut Sevi, IââÂ
âOn all fours, now, Mel. Youâre already in trouble, donât make it worse for yourself.â She growls, stepping forward and glaring at her wife. When Mel gets into position begrudingly, a small pout on her face, Sevika chuckles again. âDonât get all pouty on me. You know how this works. Stay right there while I pick, and if you break the rules again, Iâm going to smack that pretty ass of yours with your favorite beltâso everytime you wear it you think about how good you can be for Daddy.âÂ
Mel shudders and tries her best not to look as she listens to Sevika move throughout the room. She first takes a sip of that scotch, then places the bottle and glass down on the nearby table with a purposeful thud. Then she opens that god-forsaken drawer and takes her sweet time selecting the perfect toy to break her wife open. Sheâs certainly being punished, as sheâs forced to listen only as Sevika strips and puts on the harness.Â
Usually, Mel loves to enjoy the view, loves watching with hungry eyes as her sculpted wife strips off her boxers and puts on the harness she sees in her dreams. But tonight sheâs forced to watch their ornate wooden headboard insteadâlimbs trembling as she tries to force herself to listen. To be good. A moment of weakness breaks through with a frustrated growl as she glances back quickly, just in time to see Sevika lube up a familiar, deliciously long flesh-toned toy.
Itâs bigger than the one Mel selected earlier. Itâs one they pull out on rare occasions, only when they have a long weekend. The one Mel can feel before itâs even in herâitâs left an imprint on her insides. Even now, the mere sight of it makes her drip down onto the sheets.Â
Sevika looks like a goddess, tightening the straps of her harness to ensure itâs stable, and preparing to give Mel what sheâs been secretly craving since she pulled into their driveway. She canât help the whine of desire that slips from her lips, but it gives her away. Sevikaâs gaze shoots up to her, and her glare deepens. Before Mel can protest, a harsh series of swats hits her plush backside. She squeals in both pain and pleasure.Â
âYou want me to be rough with you tonight, donât you? Youâre so desperate for it, nasty little slut.â She spanks Mel again, just as harshly as beforeâand the younger woman relishes the marks sheâll surely have later. Sevika knows just how hard to go to leave behind a bruise or two on her beautifully dark skin. âHere, since youâre so desperate to get yourself off.â She spits, her hand reaching down to play in Melâs weeping entrance, not going inside just yet.Â
She teases at first, circling and playing with her wetness, dipping the tip of her finger inside before pulling it outâgroaning as Melâs sopping hole tries to suck her in. When tears of frustration bloom, she finally gives in to her own desire to feel her wifeâs warmth.Â
One large finger bullies its way inside, making Mel whine. Her back arches, body silently begging for more. Her big finger stretches just enough to make Melâs head spin, curling and twisting inside in perfect movements to take her higher. But itâs not enough to satisfy her. She pushes back as Sevika thrusts, trying to entice her into giving her what she needs. Â
âDaddy, pleaseeee.â Mel whines, unable to help herself. Sevika groans in response.Â
âYou want more? Is that it?â She growls, adding two fingers and fucking her furiously. Her bicep bulges as she skillfully curls against Melâs G-spot, earning a wail of pleasure. Tears almost spill down her cheeks, her back arches even more as she hungrily takes what Sevika gives. Her cheeks heat up in embarrassment at the sloppy, wet noises coming from between her legs.Â
She knows deep down sheâs in for a long night. Sevikaâs barely done more than brush past her now engorged clit, and sheâs a mess. But the moment she gets close to her first orgasm, Sevika pulls her fingers out and smacks her ass again. So hard Mel tries to run from it, but sheâs pulled back again.Â
âIf youâre already running, youâre gonna be hurtinâ in a minute. Spread for Daddy.â Sevika growls. Mel whines, grinding her face pitifully into the pillow as she tries to collect herself. âHurry up, Mel. This is what you wanted, donât get cold feet now.âÂ
She does as sheâs told, spreading her cheeks and groaning as Sevika lines the toy up to press against her fluttering, wet hole. They both moan as Sevika tries to stuff the whole toy in, gripping Melâs hips as she shallowly thrusts and stretches her open. The toy is huge, scrambling Melâs brains as she tries to take it. But Sevika barely gives her time to adjust, fucking her harderâgrowling as she watches Melâs ass ripple with every thrust.Â
âLove fucking you like this, baby. You take me so well.âÂ
âDaddy, please! My clit, I needââ Mel struggles to beg, but Sevika only chuckles. She grips Melâs locs and pulls her upâgrabbing close to her scalp, avoiding damaging themâand sloppily kisses her neck before replying.Â
âShhh, Iâve got you, baby. Just keep taking Daddyâs dickâ Iâll touch you when I feel like it.â Sevika rumbles, fucking Mel harder to keep her quiet. The toy hits the deepest, most sensitive spots inside her, forcing the tears down her cheeks.Â
She tries to fuck back and meet Sevikaâs thrusts, but the woman has a point to prove tonight. She lets go of Melâs hair, holds her down and increases speed. Mel screams as Sevika pummels that sweet spot inside, making her delirious. The smacking of their flesh is a lewd symphony that Mel will surely hear in her dreams for the rest of the month.Â
With every thrust, the younger woman lets out a pitiful whine. Her clit brushes against the pillow Sevika placed below her hips on the rare occasionâonly teasing her further. As if reading her mind, Sevika takes pity. Reaching her hand between Melâs legs, and swirling her swollen clit a few times before Mel is sent over the edge. She silently screams, back arching even more as a fierce orgasm rips through her. Sevika fucks her through it, with slow, deep thrusts, until the last of it works its way through her. But Mel only has a few moments of reprieve before Sevikaâs on her again.Â
âOh no, baby, youâre not done. You were huffing and puffing the minute you set foot in this house. Iâm fucking the attitude out of you. Roll over.â Sevika demands, a cocky smirk on her lips.Â
Melâs brow furrows in confusion, her pretty hazel eyes filling with more tears as she obeys. Her legs fall open as Sevika comes between them, pressing a kiss to her lips and briefly caressing her tear-stained cheek.Â
âYouâre doing well, baby, you can take more.â She praises, kissing Melâs cheek before lining the toy back up and digging deep inside her. Her eyes flutter closed, and a drawn-out moan leaves her lips as Sevika sets a brutal pace.Â
Mel can only stare up at her wife, all tensing muscles and sweat above her, and hold on tight. Sevikaâs sweating, droplets falling onto Melâs body as she moves. Her manicured nails dig into the womanâs bulky shoulders, leaving scratches as she lifts one of Melâs legs onto her shoulder to get a deeper angle. Mel can feel the toy in her throat practically, every inch of her is filled with Sevikaâs love and itâs dizzying.Â
âDaddy, I canâtâ
ââYes, you can. Youâre gonna take this dick âcause I said so. You can do it, baby.â Sevika assures, massaging Melâs clit slowly with her thumb before rolling her hips.Â
The only thing Mel can feel is Sevika. Her dick digs deep inside, breaking her apart with every deep thrust. Mel whimpers as another orgasm claws up her spine, blurring her vision. Sevika adds more pressure as she thumbs Melâs clit, brow furrowed in sympathy as Mel screams and gives herself over to the pleasure once more.Â
This time, to Melâs embarrassment, wetness bursts from her, splattering over Sevikaâs abs. The older woman groans, her hips stuttering as the act makes her hot.Â
âYouâre so perfectâfuck Mel, Iâm cumming.â Sevika cries out, back arching as well as she surges one last deep thrustâtiny whimpers hiding in the back of her throat as she too succumbs to the pleasure. She grinds against the base of the toy, giving a few quick, deep thrusts to enhance her own pleasure before finally pulling out.Â
Theyâre both panting, barely able to keep consciousness, but dutiful Sevika pulls herself together to tend to her wife. On shaky legs, she gets up to procure a warm washcloth, cleaning the swollen, sloppy mess between Melâs thighs before cleaning off her sticky abs.Â
When sheâs satisfied, she manages to grab the scotchâshe takes a sip, before bringing Mel close and pulling her into a heated kiss. Mel lets out a surprised noise, but follows her lead. A heated groan falls from her lips as the liquor spills down her throat and onto her body.
âClean me up?â Sevika asks, a mischievous look burning in her grey eyes. Mel obeys immediately, leaning down to lick up both the mess she made and the delicious liquor. Sevika shudders as her tongue works over her abdomen and teases her bush. But the activities catch up to them both quickly enough, as in a flash, they both lose steam.Â
Sevika collapses into Melâs arms with a groan. âYouâre gonna have to give me a back massage, I put in a lot of work.âÂ
âYou sure did, thank you my love. I feel much better now.âÂ
content notice: explicit language, graphic and thematic violence, use of a knife to threaten someone, suggestive content, characters with speech impediments, age gap relationship, employer/employee relationship, death threats, oc x oc pairings, oc x canon pairings, injury description, mentions of death, referenced kink dynamics, implied sex, alcohol consumption.
thx and acknowledgements:Â
So many people saw this chapter through development hell, and I'd love to thank all of them. First and foremost, thank you so much @xxlreader, for being a constant sounding board, co-writer, and bringing the sanctuaryverse together. It's not only been a joy to work with you and all the other awesome friends and writers involved, but it's genuinely restored my love and enthusiasm for creating! Thank you for trusting me with Quill in this story.Â
Second, thank you so so much to @ramunaee for the fanart of Bruise I've used in this header! I was so touched when you offered to draw her, and I'm always stunned but so grateful and happy to hear people love her as much as I do.Â
Next, thank you to @loreensdarling, @glossieduckie, @valentimes, @melmunchmedarda, @nocturnalfemme, and Cass! You all have not only poured so much into this story but have also made this world so vibrant and exciting. Each character relationship enriches and strengthens the narratives of this project so much, and I'm insanely honored to collaborate with all of you talented writers and artists. Super excited to debut all of your barbies in here and ready to be right there when you all share them in your own works as well.
Lastly, thank you @kodaswrld for the bat divider.
For the Best Reading Experience, read on Ao3!
The stadium was loud.
Too loud.
Sevika didn't mind a good party or two; the Last Drop was practically jumping 24/7 despite serving as the Eyes' base of operations. But this was a different kind of loud, the kind that settled deep in one's bones and made one's ears ring for weeks afterwards. The loudness of a title fight. The Pits weren't Sevika's typical haunt or scene, but they were now a personal concern of Silco's.
So Sevika needed to be deployed to observe the 340th title fight of the Pits. The night's card had five, and she'd luckily skipped the first one, arriving at the tail end of the fourth. She managed a seat with a perfect vantage point, up close enough to see the fighters clearly but bathed in just enough shadow she wouldn't be disturbed. Silco just needed a fighter who won more often than lost, but the underboss had her own criteria.
The sound system boomed with the obnoxious announcer's voice as the floodlights bathed the cement pit in the center in white. There were already two figures down there. A wiry-looking bird vastaya and a stocky human. Sizing the two up was easy enough. The human looked slow, but they had enough calf muscle to rival a good runner. The lanky motherfucker had a timid posture, but a good enough guard. Likely a grappler.
The bell sounded off, and Sevika got the chance to put her snap judgments to the test. The assumed grappler managed to keep their opponent at a distance, with blink-and-you'll-miss-it jabs that had them on their toes. But the other, whom Sevika had assumed was a strike-heavy fighter, ate a few decisive strikes and bulldozed the guard, getting them into a submission within seconds.
It was rather boring, not enough showmanship. Too technical. All things that would make sure a fighter would fly under the radar. What good was a champion if they couldn't make a name for the Eyes?
Sevika sighed and waited for the grappler's buddies to peel them off the dusty pit floor as the lights dimmed. This was the fourth fight she'd seen tonight and the twelfth in weeks. None of them were who she was here for, who she'd listened to over the radios with Ran or Quill. Her schedule and the other crucial moves she had to make never aligned as perfectly as today. And this wannabe colloseum was wasting her time. Casting her eyes back up to the leaderboard, she was relieved. The next and last fight would finally be promising. A basket went around, and Sevika produced her own ballot where she'd circled one of four insignias: a skull with a cleaver in black ink. She slipped it into the basket and settled in to watch.
"It'sssss TIMEEEEEEEEE!"
The lights snapped back on, and the underboss leaned forward in her seat for the first time all evening. In the center of the pit stood a new, bigger fighter. He was broad and strong, his costume a simple but eye-catching pair of blue fight trunks.
"In the left corner. At twenty-six years old. Coming in at 200 pounds, six-foot-one, and a record of twelve and oh. Tonight's title challenger and your Bronze League Beast: Royceeeeee Rageeeeeee!"
Half the arena cheered, jumping to their feet with a riotous roar. Sevika had kept an ear out for this fighter. A challenger for the current silver league medal, known for beautiful grappling finishes, submitting even the most audacious initiates within seconds of the bell. Now he would get his chance to snatch the medal and cement his growing legacy.
The only obstacle was across from him, a stalking chirean, circling Royce like a predator.
A halo of dark locs and coils caught the same floodlights that bathed her muscles. The wraps on her clawed feet and hands were still bloodstreaked from her last fight, which Quill had played on full volume while they set the table a month ago. Even from up here, Sevika could tell the fighter was damn near her size, large even amongst the catalogue of pugilists in the Pits. Claws, large and daunting, glinted even from the nosebleeds.
Her trousers were unbuttoned and had seen better days, and the black paint smeared her grey fur in a more slapdash manner than Sevika had expected. Admittedly, the posters outside the Pits had made her seem more⌠together than reality.
Still, that mattered little. Sevika had to give it to the woman; her stalking the edges of the ring, claws flexed, and guard relaxed certainly had stage presence. Even her large pointed ears were pinned back, an accessory to the snarl she wore. The rest of the audience seemed captivated, a hush falling over the stadium as the announcer's voice kick-started like an engine.
"And for your title fight of Pits 340. At thirty-four years old. Coming in at 205 pounds, six-foot-four, and a record of twenty-six and five. The phantom of the Silver League: Bruiseeeeeeeee the Butcherrrrrrrrrrrr!"
The crowd erupted, but Sevika noticed she hadn't even acknowledged them. It seemed the Butcher's whole world was in that ten-foot deep pit, and the challenger across from her. Tonight might not have been the most pivotal, but it was crucial all the same. Many around the Pits had whispered about the aging fighter, her inability to keep the silver title much longer. Tonight was yet another test. Would the Butcher end up on the block herself tonight? Or would Royce receive his first reality check since entering the Pits? Either way, tonight was guaranteed to be a barn-burner of a show.
"Rrready? Fight!"
Sevika was not disappointed. The first clang of the bell saw the two square off properly, the Butcher's prowl ending in the center on time, like she'd rehearsed it, and her guard up. The form was impeccable, no doubt perfected by years in this hellhole.
Her stance was light as she tested Royce's guard, a quick jab and cross that returned to her chest, chin tucked, and hips set. Instantly, she applied pressure. There would be no waiting for Royce to find his footing, and the Butcher wouldn't drag this out in the name of caution. Good. The brawler had competency and showmanship. Sevika had seen too much and not enough of either in nearly every fighter that night.
The animal act hadn't dropped either; the Butcher's posture was hunched, and her glare was hungry. The Eyes could use this.
Meanwhile, Royce had managed to get his bearings, deflecting enough hits to keep his head on straight and start getting aggressive. He charged her, launching a hook at her head. The Butcher moved quickly, weaving in and out of each counter. Her answer was kicks, wearing down his shifting stance with each strike to the knees. Royce's stance buckled, and in two seconds the Butcher launched a spinning back kick to his skull. Incredibly, he staggered back, but shook it off before she advanced. Sevika watched the dance carefully, enthralled by how expertly the Butcher dodged each strike, leading the two of them to the pit's walls.
Despite herself, her breath caught, impressed by how the Butcher had bullied Royce into the wall and began to piece him up. Her kicks had turned into knees as she caught him in a clinch, her head wedged under his chin. Royce's arms flopped out to the sides as he lost control of his midsection, as he tried to get her out from under him to no avail. Each knee caught his side and ribs, doubling him over. He tried to manage hooks into The Butcher's head, hoping to dislodge her, but she practically ate each one. Powering through a knee that would've had any other person balled up on the floor, Royce swung his leg out to the side and managed to wrestle his way off the cage, and kept his guard up as he bounced on his toes away from her.
The Butcher's countenance finally broke for the first time all night, an almost maniacal grin on her face. Her guard changed too, Sevika noted with interest, no longer a pair of tight fists carefully bracketing her head. Her claws were open and flexed, her fangs bared. If Royce thought he could press or run from her in this state, he was dead wrong. Sevika and the crowd practically smelled the blood in the water.
Royce put his hands up and shot an overextended jab out that was instantly weaved and countered by an open fist to the face, claws rending flesh down his face in strips. Royce screamed, holding his cheek, and the crowd screamed with him in bloodthirsty glee. The Butcher had narrowly missed his eye. Between a mauled face and bruised ribs, the man could barely muster a defense while proper punches caught him in the nose, cheek, and chin, rocking his head back like a rag doll. This was a massacre, and when Royce swayed on his feet, the end seemed near. But, as Sevika had come to learn, being on the brink of defeat brought something different out in each fighter: a second wind, begging for mercy, desperate and sloppy Hail Jannas. In Royce, it brought out a jab that clipped The Butcher's cheek, a small cut on the surface as his uncut nail grazed her.
The arena gasped, and Sevika's eyes widened when she saw him mirror the Butcher's earlier guardbreaker. The pitfighter dropped it slightly, and he got a hold of her knee. Sevika's eyebrow raised in concern. Was she letting him get the drop on her? Her preemptive disappointment dissipated as The Butcher sprawled instantly, her weight pressing on Royce's shoulder blades. Her control over his ribs was insane, punishing shot after crushing blow, turning deep brown skin a gnarly purple under the floodlights. Blood began to streak and smear Royce's skin as her claws began to rip into him with each blow, rivers of scratches marring his flesh. Her foot came free, and she moved like a blur, latching onto his back and securing her right arm underneath his armpit and her left against his neck. The triangulation was set, and she brought her forearm up, clasping her fist together as she squeezed.
If Sevika had somehow missed the chiseled form before her, she definitely noticed the obscene bulge of The Butcher's mere forearm against Royce's throat. Her own throat went dry, and she leaned in even closer. Royce tried to stand but couldn't; her own counterweight and the cling of her legs around his hips from behind kept him grounded in the dust. He began to thrash, trying to sink his chin under her arm. But it was no use. The meat of it crushed his windpipe as his movements grew frantic, then slowed, until his head lolled to the side.
His great body went lax in her grip, and the countdown began.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
By the time the announcer screamed out five, it was clear Royce wasn't getting back up. The bell clanged, and the Butcher stood to her feet, kicked the limp body away from her, and pumped both arms, summoning the entire audience above her to a riotous applause. For all her reserve, even Sevika cracked a broad grin mirroring the snarled smile on the chirean's face.
This was the one.
In a daze, Bruise stumbled back to the locker room, blood still rushing in her large ears. If a shell with a live round were a person, she would be that bullet. The gun of the crowd was gone, and only she remained unfired, shoving herself through a jammed door to an empty and drab locker room. Under the flicker of the faulty lights, the contours of her muscles undulated, shifting the shadows cast on them. Her hands trembled as she reached her corner and grabbed the towel hanging over her chair. She grabbed the small bucket on the peeling wooden bench next to it, which held the solution to dissolve the paint in her fur, and brought both over to the small cracked mirror overlooking the sink. Licking some of the blood from her split lip, Bruise spat into the stained porcelain. A viscous blotch of red in a cracked, yellowing bowl.
She took in her own eyes, uneven, brown, owlish, and alert though rimmed with bags. Sleep was a stranger to a body that braced for a fight long over. Her empty claws clutched the edges of the sink, needing to sink into something, anything. The resulting screech caused her ears to flatten against her head, her piercings clinking gently. Besides shallow pants, that was the only noise echoing off the wall's yellow tile. At the night's start, it had teemed with newcomers looking for quick coin, initiates ready to strive for greatness, and the odd mentor or two wrapping the fists of a plucky upstart.
Empty? It was a gouache masoleum that stank of mildew, blood, and sweat.
As Bruise glared at herself in the fractured glass, she couldn't help the bitter chuckle that shook her shoulders. There was a cruel humor in being loosed into that pit, drumming up the love of thousands, and coming back to dress one's own wounds in a rundown basement with a shitty sink. Stuck in the stupor of bloodlust, high off another match, and unable to keep herself from wanting more. More than this.
She had to put her limbs to use. So, Bruise plunged the towel in the bucket and began to scrub at her face and shoulders. The spare water ran down her body, streaking the grey fluff of her arms and the pink skin of her belly. She raked at her own flesh with more force than necessary, a small growl under her breath at the effort. The paint began to thin and smear, ruining the towel until it too stained gray. Cranking the rusty faucet once, twice, then finally for the third time, she cupped her hands, the lukewarm water easing the twitch of her claws. It hit her fevered flesh like a balm, loosening the remainder of the paint and bringing her back into her head little by little.
It wasn't enough to feel like a person again. But it would do for now.
Her ears caught the noise before she processed it, and she whipped around. A tall figure, around her height, with short dark hair pulled half back, took up the doorway. How had she been so quiet? With the steel-toed boots she sported, Bruise should've heard her from a mile away. Or smell her, what with the sudden waft of smoke, shimmer, and sandalwood suddenly flooding the space.
Unhunching from the sink and rolling their damp shoulders back, the chirean glowered. A large red cloak covered her left side, if not most of her body. A faintly glowing blue scar spidered across her left cheek like cracked glass. She looked strong, and there was something familiar in her grin, that of someone who liked what they saw and wanted to secure it for themself. It made Bruise's hackles rise. If there was one good thing about rotting in Silver League, it was being overlooked by the stranger's kind.
"This ain't a public area," she grunted, drying off her neck and shoulders. She barely kept the growl out of her voice. "Fuck you doin' down here?"
Still, her unexpected guest said nothing, approaching the pitfighter slowly. Bruise's face set into a scowl. She didn't have time for this. She scoffed and tossed the towel onto the bench.
"Yo, you deaf? Get outta here. I ain't tellin' you twice."
The stranger paused and narrowed her eyes. Bruise recognized that look, and straightened up on reflex, the hand not in use curling into a fist. Fine. Maybe Bruise would get a chance to let her leftover adrenaline finally find an outlet. The woman's shoulders squared under the cloak, and the exposed curve of her waist, bulge of her bicep, and sharp V-line caught Bruise's eye. She wouldn't go down easily. Even better.
Then, the cigar on the stranger's lips dimmed before she took it between two fingers and exhaled slowly. Thick pluming clouds wafted into Bruise's face. The scent of whatever she'd wrapped in the brown paper stung Bruise's nose, only worsening her snarl. Finally, the stranger opened her mouth.
"Fought well out there," came the voice, deep. Calming. Her face gave away nothing. "And I ain't an easy woman to impress. Or kill. Let's be civil."
"Civil?" Bruise almost barked in disbelief. "Bitch, you broke into a locker room unannounced."
An amused chuckle cut through the tense silence. This bitch thought she was funny. Thought the way Bruise sized her up was a joke. Well, Bruise was about to become a fucking comedian. Her other hand flexed open while she clicked low, menacing, and rumbling in her throat. Still, the woman's gaze didn't change, aside from a slight smirk. "Force of habit. Got an offer for you."
"Not interested."
The stranger didn't seem upset by the answer, thick brows still relaxed as she held Bruise's gaze. She tilted her head and leaned in even closer. "Trust me. You're interested. The Eyes can offer much more than what you make now."
They had all said that. Volkage, Chross, Finn, even Grime, the bastard. She'd fended them off years ago. Was still paying for it years later. What would a new gang that sprouted up nearly four years ago try that the others hadn't? Bruise bit back a bitter laugh, tamping down on the urge to rake her claws across the woman's face or bite her.
"I make enough," Bruise ground out. This time, the words all but lost any human quality, warped and cracked around an oncoming growl. "Leave."
The other woman's eyes hardened, just a fraction. Bruise couldn't see her other arm, and a faint whirring and hiss of steam caught her ear. She hadn't accounted for a weapon. Then again, she hadn't accounted for being walked in on by a chembaron when they hadn't sniffed her way in years.
The stranger suddenly straightened up and pulled back. She flicked the ash from her cigar on the cement floor and slipped her right hand underneath that cloak. Bruise's eyes went wide, and she hissed, drawing an eyebrow raise from the stranger. Slowly, like Bruise was an animal she didn't wish to spook, her hand withdrew, cigar still in hand, joined by a slip of paper. She didn't hand it to Bruise, whose pink nose still curled in a snarl. Instead, the stranger had the nerve to press it to the short, thick fur on their chest. She leaned in, muttering into the pink of her ear.
"Open tab on me. The Last Drop. Stop by when you like. Or don't."
Bruise felt her face scrunch in confusion as the stranger finally turned on her heels to leave, the door not so much as slamming behind her. That was the least "convincing" she'd had to do for the mouthpiece of a chembaron. Usually, these conversations resulted in the messenger leaving with fewer teeth, a black eye, or a few new gashes. She took hold of the voucher, examining it in her claws with begrudged fascination. On the back was a scrawled message.
"Ask for Sevika?âŚ"
She folded it and set it on the bench, shaking her head. That had to be the oddest attempt at recruitment she'd experienced. No threats, no overt or grand promises, not even a dramatic "you'll regret this". Bruise scoffed to no one as she stalked over to her locker and wrenched the rusted cabinet open, grabbing a fresh set of sweats. She'd long learned not to trust the showers here, and after peeling herself out of the tattered fight breeches with a wince, she jogged home. Where the temperamental boiler didn't come with complementary black mold. Maybe it was the promise of free liquor, one of her more expensive vices, that earned that little slip of paper a ride home in her pocket.
The empty arena tunnels meant every thought in her head was almost as loud as the echo of her steps. She couldn't shake the strange woman from her mind. Had they met under better circumstances, had Bruise not been two seconds away from taking a chunk out of her throat with her teeth, the pitfighter might've considered making a pass at her. She was good-looking enough, with those gray eyes that haunted Bruise on her jog to the residential quarters of the Promenade.
Here, the greens of the undercity's many factories, lights, and fumes finally escaped into Piltover's night air. Above, the stars winked through the film of lights competing with them all. The streets were less crowded, though that would change as the nightlife began its nocturnal reign. The roads and alleys of every layer below morphed into broad, spidering bridges, framing the green-tinted world below like a windowpane. A glimpse into the gritty reality under Promenade's glittering artifice. Gas lamps lined every thoroughfare as horseless carriages and people alike traveled under their glow. A decent head and shoulders above most of the crowd, the sea of bodies gave Bruise a decent berth as she slowed to a brisk walk. A tall building, the length of two blocks, and made of frosted glass, spiraling ironwork, and brick, was her destination. It was swanky enough as far as the lower districts of the undercity were concerned, home sweet home.
She jerked her chin in greeting at two uniformed youths by the door, boots thudding up the narrow steps. Both ushers bowed at the waist as they pushed back the dark, oak double doors.
Once she made it to her floor, Bruise was on a countdown. Preferring to hoof it would make her more than a little late, but it was good form, keeping her sharp enough on nights when she couldn't train. She barely kicked off her worn shoes, wrenching the sweater over her head on her way to the bedroom and wriggling out of the soft woolen pants. She winced as every fiber caught against her fur, brushing this way and that. The boxers would be the worst part; the clingy and sweat-damp fabric sticking to her coat was unforgiving as she tugged at it. Punches, she could do. Kicks and knees, she could handle. But the way most fabrics, wet or dry, stuck to her short, thick fur like stubborn burrs made her want to claw her skin clean off.
With a miserable chitter under her breath, Bruise shoved at the pair, ignoring how her body screamed with discomfort, until it fell around her ankles. Annoyed, she picked it up and tossed it in the hamper, finally free as she hurried to the shower. Unlike the rusty locker room sink, the water flowed freely with just one turn of the knob. Nice and hot to boot. A small blessing, she thought as she stepped under the spray.
The steaming water rinsed the cling of sweat from her short fur, and she slid her eyes closed, resting her forehead against the tiled wall. She would scrub in just a second, when she'd been drenched head to toe and had rinsed away the lingering heat from the stranger's stare. It hadn't rinsed away the tension in her palms, the itch of her gums, or the red at the edge of her vision. Hadn't soothed the erratic twitch of her muscles. Royce hadn't been a bad fight, not really. The kid was talented. Once he healed up, he'd go far. But not while she ruled this division. Of course, that left her on pins and needles, caged in silver without the keys.
The price of principle, she supposed.
When the steam faded, and she'd scrubbed the skin under her fur raw, Bruise had felt a little better. A little. No longer all rage and instinct masquerading as the put-together person others would gravitate to.
Though a prayer held together her more recent costume for the Pits, the ratty breeches were no indication of her usual style. Her closet door opened to reveal rows of high-end apparel. Some were commissions from the modistes in the Promenades, others were already finished and bought from department stores. Only one designer ever helped her not feel like their clothes were stubbornly clinging to her body.
She found tonight's ensemble from them waiting for her on a hanger: a sequin mesh top that showed off the muscle she'd worked hard for. It didn't cling to her fur the way most textiles did, and could be paired with most anything. The shoulders of the same wire hanger were covered by a black, cropped denim jacket with white stitching and silver buttons. The only pop of color was a red rectangular patch above a front pocket reading "Bloodbath". Its sleeves stopped just above her elbows, and the inside was lined with satin, smoothing over her coat nicely. Folded over the hanger was a pair of wide-legged black trousers that hung low on her hips and pooled around her ankles. The washed and distressed fabric had fringe along the outer seams. Slung over the pair was a studded and glimmering silver rhinestone belt, a silver waist chain, and a pair of red boxer briefs with a black waistband.
Bruis unhooked it from the top shelf rail and began to piece the fit together. She cast a glance at the clock on her nightstand, the hands warning her she was already behind schedule. Not good for the guest of honor. After parties for title fights had become her specialty, since that was all she received by this point. The expenses were always offset by record attendance, despite her current lot. After all, she was a fan favorite for many reasons. And that hadn't changed just because of the chembarons' longstanding hatred of her.
Finally dressed, she picked through the jewelry box on her dresser for an engraved silver wristwatch with a thick band, and three large chains, including one with her first silver medal. She buckled the former around her wrist but paused before fastening the latter around her thick neck. Back when that medal meant something, she'd worn it everywhere, a sign she'd done what no other fighter had. The youngest to jump two divisions, with titles in both, in less than a year.
Now the weighty medallion seemed to mock her. She had another one. No one could hope to take it from her. Only this time, it was because she fought amateurs, still wet behind the ears and spoiled on patron money and living. The higher divisions were the same story, and everyone knew if she was allowed a shot at promotion? No one up there would be ready for her.
Still, Bruise was at least proud of this one. With a sigh, she clasped it around her neck and took a second to admire how it rested on her chest. She'd earned it, and if there was one thing she'd learned early, it was to always own what you'd fought for.
On her way out of the lobby, one of the doormen whistled, and the horseless carriage service for the residences rolled across the cobblestones, stopping in front of the steps.
"Good work, Lyle." She tossed a gold hex his way and waved him off before opening the door herself. The kid beamed and scurried back to the door. Bruise smiled, watching him tuck it into his back pocket, remembering her own small stint as a doorman a lifetime ago. She hadn't lasted long there; the uniform sucked, and her boss was a terror. But it helped her get by. She tried to do the same for the freckle-faced small fry when she could.
The electric greens and neons of the Promenades districts whizzed by until the wheels slowed in front of a club with a narrow door and a line at least three blocks long. The steaming and hissing of the carriage finally stopped in front of a side entrance, and Bruise emerged from the cab. Thanking the driver, she jogged to the inconspicuous door, and a peephole slid open, annoyed green eyes meeting hers.
Three squeaks, each clipped and irate, came through the steel of the door. "You're late. Again."
Bruise rolled their eyes. They raised their left wrist and tapped their watch, chittering back and ending with a lower-pitched chirp. "By like half an hour. Now open the damn door?"
The eyes narrowed, but two seconds later, the door groaned open. A slim-thick chirean woman with thick dark lashes, a neon green unit to her ass, and ears pierced from lobe to tip with bolts and hoops frowned at Bruise, crossing her arms.
"You lucky you cute," she groused, switching to the common tongue as Bruise hurried inside and pressed a kiss to her cheek. "Seriously, Bruise you late as fuck, if you ruin this for the kid I swearâ"
"Chill out, Dez. You know I'm good for it. The gang all here?"
"Have been. For the past half-hour. For a watch that expensive, it sure don't seem to work."
"Great job, baby," Bruise blew past the jab, already on her way up the stairs to the DJ booth. "'Ey, we still good for next week?"
"Please, don't piss me off today," Dez scowled. "Just get out there already."
Bruise smiled, her pierced bottom lip stretching around gleaming fangs. Dez could be a hard ass, but Bruise knew she'd be around hers the following week, turning that frown into something else entirely. The side entrance emptied behind the booth, where a light-skinned woman with blonde and brown locs was in the midst of spinning. The stemme was already waving out to the crowd from her table, the beats looping and winding over the other, bringing the club to life. The shifting pulse of the lights was calming in a way, easy to lose herself in. From a mixed setup of amps and phonographs, deep bass with a looping electric piano chime boomed out over the club. Bruise had never personally tried spinning, but she quite enjoyed watching the DJ's work. Slowly, she crept up behind the young woman, who had one ear of her headphones on.
"Not bad, Gert!"
Gert nearly leapt up, fumbling her headphones before shooting the nastiest side-eye at Bruise, who was snickering behind her fist. She clutched her chest to catch her breath. "Scared the shit out me, man!"
"Ain't my fault you scare easy," the pitfighter grinned. Gert looked at her set with a conflicted look, and Bruise dialed down the tease in her tone. "Girl, you're doin' great, trust. They lined up around the block for you."
"No, they here cause you on the flyer, front and center. Had four people crowd my damn booth askin' for you."
"So my face sells. Don't mean they not gon' turn up regardless. That's your job tonight. You got this." Bruise was assured the DJ was a perfect fit, a prodigy practically, who'd been spinning for years. She could tell the girl was nervous, in no part due to how long it took her to show up. If it weren't for that weird-ass woman who broke into the locker room, Bruise probably would've been earlier. Still, she had one job: show up and mingle so the real star could get her exposure. "I shoulda been earlier. But trust, they love you. Aight?"
Gert broke into a small smile and nodded, before standing on tiptoe to press a kiss to Bruise's cheek. "Thanks." Then she turned down the volume on the tracks as a small spotlight hit the booth. "Ladies and gentlemen of Pure Air, your guest of honor has arrived! Please welcome to the stage, the one and only, Bruise the Butcher!"
"Y'all havin' a time?" called Bruise, her voice cutting over the din of the club. Gert played an airhorn loop, a perfect punctuation to the sentence.
The club cheered, drinks of all kinds raised sky-high, with drunken and sober cheers mingling into an addictive cacophony.
"Nah, y'all can do better than that. Pure Air! I said, 'Y'all Havin' A Time?'"
The entire club roared to life. Yeah, that was more like it. Gert played a few more airhorn sounds and reverse impact effects. When the crowd slowly quieted, Bruise continued.
"Now, y'all know I'on' need no introduction, but I wanna thank y'all for comin'. You not only came to the hottest party in the Twin Cities," she paused and gestured to Gert. "Y'all also got the best MC in Runeterra. Go 'head and give it up for DJ Chem Sister!"
She turned to Gert and winked while the entire dance floor and even the sections erupted. The younger woman's sheepish half-smile broadened. For all that was said about Bruise in and outside the Pits, she knew how to create moments. How to grant and give them when she could. Because no matter what, she was a star, bringing light to everything she touched. This was her world, and there was nothing she loved more than bringing others in to bask in it.
"Tonight ain't just about another win, but about celebratin' everything that makes that hole in the ground worth it! And that's y'all," She swept her arm out over the crowd as the lights followed. Chorusing agreement met her ears.
"That's these other killers y'all won't forget," and the light followed where she pointed, to a section with three figures. A large woman with dark, buzzed hair and round cheeks, pride written all over his face. A red-haired marai who cracked a fanged grin raised her glass back at the stage, and a tan, dry woman on her left, shaking a mop of curly brown hair at the shoutout. Each one wore their own chains and medals, the wraps on their hands clean but speaking to a life few understood or loved. Bruise smiled back, proud to count herself one of that number. She swallowed.
"-And another night with undefeated! Now let's bring the roof down in this motherfucker! Pure Air, thank you!"
A new track kicked in, more bass and clap-heavy with light snares and a looping but simple melody over it all. Bruise felt her shoulders move despite herself. She didn't know why Gert had been nervous in the first place, because this kid was a natural. Already, the dance floor was filled with swaying and mingling bodies, brought together by the bass. Bruise's smile softened as they patted her on the shoulder before heading over to the VIP section through a walkway, avoiding the sea of bodies that packed out Pure Air.
Despite the apparent smooth start, Bruise could feel Dez's glare burn a hole in the back of her head. If she didn't at least do her part and rub a few elbows or say a couple of words, the 5'4" woman was sure to haul her big ass out of the club herself.
She made her way around to the photo area, where more than a few big-spending attendees were waiting for their promised Polaroid with the champion. This part didn't take too long; the event's photographer was keen to get it over with as well. Some of the guests were long-time fans who asked to pose with her signature Guillotine Choke finisher. A few others were rather forward femmes, who asked for headlock photos. Some of the stud guests asked her to square up. Every guest got their wish, and Bruise thanked each for coming. She had meant it, because the fighting alone, powerful and fulfilling as it was, meant nothing without the people who filled those stands every night, bet on her, and cheered her name.
The queue emptied within fifteen minutes, and Bruise was already being swarmed by sports columnists for the larger publications in the twin cities. Mic after mic after pen was shoved in her face as they pressed her about her most recent win, what training would look like for her next match, and the worst yet, when would she vacate the silver medal to pursue glory in gold. She forced a full-toothed grin at that last one.
With the last bicep had been signed and the last reporter regaled, Bruise found her way to that semi-circle of leather couches, rounding the back of one to clap a heavy hand on a broad shoulder.
"You gotta ease up on that shit, Tito," Bruise laughed. "Already gettin' hard to understand yo' ass sober."
Tito chuckled and placed a pint of Valoran lager down on the little round table in the center. "Yyyou lil' shi-shit. Bring in- bring it in."
The slurring in his deep voice grated on Bruise's misshapen ears as he rose to his feet and pulled her into a tight hug.
"Glad you could make it, man," she smiled around a lump in her throat. She'd meant it. She didn't know how many years the old butch had left. Only that she was glad he was still here. They patted each other on the back before parting as she took in his features. Worn and weary, nose broken beyond belief. In some ways, he was the spitting image of her mentor. The closest thing she had left of him.
"Damn, you goin' on like he boutta die or some shit," cackled the marai from the couch's other end. The red scales on her face glinted with the club lights around a sharp grin. "Get over here."
"Listen, Cain," chuckled the smaller woman on her left. Pale cream liquor swirled in the green bottle she held aloft. "You ain't hear the old bastard's knees in trainin' today. Shit sounded like a backfirin' motor. He got like three days, tops."
"How much y'all had already?" Bruise sighed, unable to keep the smile out of her voice as she slapped palms with both of them and settled into some free space in the section. "Runnin' up my damn tab and I just got here. Surprised you even made it, Frankie."
"Yeah, well, couldn't let you gloat alone, kid." Bruise's ears twitched at the wry and somewhat bitter undertone in her raspy voice. Bruise swallowed and ignored it anyway. "Besides, lil' win bonus you got tonight should cover it just fine."
"Lay off her, would you?" Cain groaned, shoving her in the shoulder. The gesture did little to alleviate the way Bruise's jaw clenched. "You'll be hostin' the next one once Dana gets her head out her ass."
"Ain't layin' into her. Just a reminder."
A nine-year-old mistake bridled Bruise's tongue, and she refused to rip Frankie a new one for trying to check her instead of just enjoying the damn section. After all, what could a night of good drink and music repair that two fighters' hubris had destroyed? Frankie side-eyed her for a long moment, then shook her head. The older fighter swiped an unopened beer from the small icebox on the low table before them.
"My fault, kid. Four years, and you never left your people behind. Shit counts for somethin'."
She held out the bottle to Bruise, a meaningful glint in her stare. One that cut through Pure Air's strobing lights.
"No matter- no mat- no matter what, kid." Tito nodded, smile small as he nodded at Bruise. His face was kinder, but only doubled the weight sitting in her chest.
"We got you," Cain grinned. "Long as you got us."
Bruise's smile faltered. Of course, even now, Frankie held the root of the night's favors over her head. It hadn't mattered that she got them the best section in the house, top-of-the-line spirits, and played a heel for the lesser part of a decade. None of it would take back a mistake that wasn't hers in the first place.
"Well, kid?" Cain muttered, setting down her own pint. "Don't let it go to waste."
Bruise swallowed around the indignant lump in her throat and wrapped her palm around the beer.
"Thanks, Frankie." She felt colder than the glass she closed her fist around. "Imma check sumn' right quick."
Not sparing any of the fighters a glance, she pushed through the throng of bodies on the club's main floor. She felt her way along the walls to the stairs, her footfalls heavy as she finally made it to a back door. Wrenching it open, she found an empty concrete stairwell and finally, alone again, sat on its steps, pushing her palms into her eyes. She didn't know how long it had been, the beats of the room above blending into one constant noise. Then there was a loud creak, and the music swelled before muffling again with a slam.
"There you are, party animal," came Dez's voice, slightly teasing. "Frankie and the others lookin' for you."
"Yeah, well, they can keep lookin' cs I'm done for the night."
The venue coordinator frowned just a bit and moved to sit beside Bruise, drawing her knees to her chest. "Was wonderin' why you showed up alone."
"All this. And it still ain't enough," she sighed, pushing her palms into her eyes. Frankie's words, venomous but trite enough to seem innocuous, still raised her hackles.
Dez leaned forward, bright green tresses curtaining a fuzzy gray shoulder, and smiled sympathetically. She patted Bruise between the shoulder blades and pressed her thigh into theirs. But outside of the casual press of her body against the fighter, there was nothing Dez could say or do to even peel back the layers of rot that drove Bruise down here in the first place. Hiding from what should've been her night of all things.
"Lemme get your mind off 'em then." The purr of the offer had Bruise sitting ramrod straight, ears perked up. She cracked a grin of her own and leaned into Dez's space, one large hand snaking around her waist and the other curling on her thigh. Dez leaned in and whispered into the pink of Bruise's ear. "After I wrap up here. Meet me by the side entrance in an hour, aight?"
She patted the stud's cheek, grazing it with her painted claws, before pushing off the concrete steps to make her rounds in the venue. The door clanged after her, while Bruise found her throat dry and swallowed thickly.
Buoyed by the promise of pleasure, they let the pulse of the music carry her to the dance floor, where a familiar figure decked nearly head to toe in red waved them down. Bruise chuckled to themself as they met the young woman in the middle, weaving and jostling her way through the crowd to the chirean.
Miles of legs in red thigh-highs, and hips wrapped by a blue miniskirt with bikini strings came into view. Bruise's eyes raked upward, past the bare midsection decorated with gold waist chains and lingering on the swell of breasts just underneath a cropped red button-up. They let their gaze loiter shamelessly before finally dragging up to the girl's face, her plump lips parting around a gap-toothed smile with gold grills shaped like fangs. Bubble braids fell around her shoulders, framing round, light-skinned cheeks, and brown eyes with stars in them.
"Hey, Butcher!" she giggled, already pushing into Bruise's space.
"Ichor!" Bruise laughed, giving her a once-over, her large hands already sliding to the soft rolls that spilled out the sides of the skirt. "Damn, girl! This all for me?"
"Mm-hm, just for the winner! Got sum'n else to show you, too!"
Bruise raised her pierced eyebrow as Ichor did a one-eighty and bent with her hands on her knees, pushing her voluptuous backside into the fighter's pelvis. They always appreciated the view, appreciated getting danced on like this even more, but their eyes caught on a design gracing the girl's lower back. A red pair of cleavers cutting hearts bracketed a small phrase in common:
"Fresh meat, huh? Real subtle," Bruise purred, both hands squeezing Ichor's hips and waist to pull her flush against them. "Now who told you to go and get sum'n like that?"
Ichor threw her arms around Bruise's neck, geeked as a pair of clawed hands kneaded the soft fat on her hips. "You like it?"
"Mm, needa get a better look, baby. Club lights don't do it justice."
The groupie practically beamed, catching her idol's drift. "Y'mean it?"
"Course I do," Bruise chuckled, pulling Ichor up to her chest, wrapping one arm around her neck. She bent down to nose at the shell of the young woman's ear before steering them both back to her section. Frankie and the others were still there. Good. "But first."
The girl giggled the whole time as Bruise shifted to sling their arm around her waist, palming the under cheeks spilling from the precarious skirt she wore. They helped her up the steps, even though Ichor was a natural at walking in her platforms by now. The young woman flushed and giggled as Bruise brought her knuckles to their lips and eased them both back into some free space on the soft black leather of the couches. Immediately, the pitfighter let their legs spread while the lights of the club pulsed and shifted with the beat, and waved down a bottle girl. Ichor slipped one hand into their cropped denim vest, playing with their silver medal while they passed off their order and added a hefty tip paid in gold hexes.
"Not another one," Cain chuckled from their end, her gold eyes shamelessly raking over Ichor. The girl blushed, eyes lingering for just a moment on the other fighter. That wouldn't do.
The pitfighter smiled toothily and brought one hand up to grip Ichor's chin. Squealing with barely contained excitement, Ichor threw both legs over their own thick thighs. Wrapped around their claws and overjoyed to be invited in, she preened in their lap alone. The winner.
"How long it take you to get that?" Frankie asked, the tramp stamp prominent from where Ichor had clambered into Bruise's lap
"Uhm, prolly like three hours? Hurt like a bitch too."
"Aww," Bruise cooed, rubbing the pad of her thumb against Ichor's jaw. "No wonder you put this lil' ass skirt on. Had to show off for all that time, huh?"
"Had to show off for the champion."
Well, fuck. Ichor never failed to remind Bruise why she'd even let a groupie get this close. Right before Bruise could reply, the bottle girl returned to set down the case of Noxian vodka, throwing her a wink. The pitfighter had seen her around once or twice. She'd have to make a note to spin the block on her later. For now, though, Ichor was squirming in their lap, pouting as she noticed her idol's eye wandering.
"Damn, you bored already?"
"Wit'chu? Nah. In fact, wanna play a game right now?"
She nodded, and the pitfighter reached for the case and brought the lid to her mouth. They did a trick most of the girls in their orbit adored, holding the cork between their back fangs and tugging it free of the glass in one yank. They spat out the cork, watching as Ichor's pupils nearly tripled in size and her scent thickened.
They brought the case up, the claw on their thumb pulling open the plush of the girl's bottom lip. She obeyed wordlessly, mouth falling open to receive a sip of the liquor. Her face screwed up, and she fanned her mouth, shaking her head. "Eugh! Gods, I'on' know how you drink that! Shit's nasty!"
"Careful, kid," chuckled Frankie. "The shit she knocks back would make Cain go blind."
Bruise smirked, patting her cheek. "Ain't my fault y'all can't hold real liquor. But you did good, baby."
Ichor quit suffering from the brief taste of damn near pure alcohol burning her throat to smile, eyes watering. Bruise's heart-shaped nose flared, and the twitch of their muscles returned. "For real?"
They let go of Ichor's face and brought their hand back down to her ass. They squeezed a handful and nodded. "Teach you a trick. Make it go down easier, if you ready?"
She smiled and nodded so hard that Bruise thought her head would fly off her shoulders. They took a massive swig of the rum, the burn barely registering, then held it in their mouth and leaned in. Pulling Ichor in by the jaw, Bruise pressed their full, painted lips to hers. On contact, the girl parted her red lips again, no command necessary, and moaned into the kiss. She whimpered as the burn returned on her tongue, then giggled once the Pitfighter's tongue laved along hers. All of a sudden, the scalding taste felt a little sweeter, and she slid a hand up into Bruise's freeforms, lightly tugging. One of her hands drifted down to the chirean's belt buckle, thumbing over the now-warm metal.
When the last drops of the liquor finally slid down her throat, Bruise pulled Ichor away by the cheeks, a proud smile bringing out the dimples their piercings highlighted. "See? Don't that taste better?"
The girl nodded slowly, her hoop earrings clinking with the motion. Bruise patted her thigh and stood, helping her to her feet. Ichor wobbled a little on her platformed feet but righted herself quickly. Bruise eyed her, concerned, before she squeezed the pitfighter's larger hand with both of hers, determination in her gaze.
"Please? Wanted this before that nasty ass shit you sippin' on. Want you just as bad now."
Bruise sighed fondly and led Ichor by the hand out of the section, feeling six eyes burn into the back of her head. Good. They swiped the case, corked it, and tucked it under their other arm.
"See y'all at training in a few days."
Ichor navigated the short steps by herself, completely straight and steady. So Bruise let go of her hand in favor of ghosting the small of her back. In the back of her mind, Bruise remembered Dez had offered them a night in her company, too. But she was still on the clock, and they were more than ready to get out of this place. They'd hoped she wouldn't hold it against them.
After all, they were lucky they were cute.
The second Sevika hit the three-sectioned couch, she tugged off her boots and shrugged off her coat. Quill whisked both items off to the foyer. A small smile curled the corner of her mouth as the femme bustled around in their house dress, setting down a glass of water for her without being asked.
"Thanks, doll."
Quill beamed as they sidled up to Sevika, a smile bunching up their bearded cheeks. Their long, partially dyed braid curled around their broad shoulders, a few textured strands escaping to frame their temple. Their hand wrapped around the glass and lifted it to her, eyes full of mirth as Sevika lifted it to her lips and drank. The underboss had relaxed significantly as the younger woman gazed up at her, starry-eyed and waiting for her to drain the glass so she could offer more. With a sigh, Sevika set the empty glass back down, and Quill sprang up to grab it.
"Would you like anything else to drink, sir? I also have food left for you on the stove."
"That'd be gre-," Sevika started, just as Quill snatched up the glass and practically shot off to the kitchen to fix Sevika's plate. She chuckled under her breath, almost certain of the underlying source of their excitement. But they would have their answers soon enough, once their home cooking warmed her stomach and whiskey warmed her throat.
Like magic, Quill rushed back to her side, a plate of mangĂş and los tres golpes in one hand, and the glass full of liquor in the other. They didn't rush to set it down, but the second both items were squarely on the table, they flew back to her side, practically squirming in their seat.
Sevika reached for the fork, her eye catching how Quill held their breath, lips pressed in a smile that threatened to break into a full grin. She sighed and set the fork back down, resting her forehead in her right hand, a knowing smile on her own full lips.
"Something wrong, Sir?"
"No. But someone clearly has something to get off their chest."
Quill ducked their head sheepishly, face burning.
"Yes, I went to see her."
"And? Was she a good fit? I listened to the entire fight; it must've been impressive to see up close! Did she have demands? I'm sure we could fulfill them perfectlyâŚ"
Sevika's shoulders shook in a voiceless laugh as Quill's mouth ran a mile per minute. Just as their food and uncompromising service to her in the four walls of their home refilled her when her own cup ran dry, the deep melody of their voice eased and unwound the tension in the base of her skull. So, she let them prattle on, picking the fork back up and tucking into the slices of fried salami and scoops of mashed plantain. Even as the blend of spices hit her tongue, she felt the bite of disappointing Quill, and eventually Ran, who would surely mope over the nothing burger today's visit turned out to be.
Washing the meal down with some whiskey, Sevika finally held her hand up for some silence. Quill's line of questioning died off quickly, and they waited for her to speak.
"Her style's perfect," Sevika began, deciding to start with a bit of praise. "She's brutal, with the showmanship to match. An animal. Everyone in that arena was hooked, start to finish."
"But?"
Rolling her eyes, Sevika leaned her elbows on her knees. She remembered the little of the pitfighter she'd observed before they caught onto her presence. The way muscles shifted and trembled under grey fur. How growled out panting wracked their entire frame. "She won't sign. Knew we weren't the only ones to approach her, but she wouldn't let me offer shit."
Quill didn't visibly deflate, but their smile fell âjust a little.
"Cheer up, doll. You think I'd let her get away that easy? Just gotta find her price first."
"I see," Quill sighed, smoothing their large hands over their knees, the fabric of their house dress shifting with the motion. Sevika's exasperation faded slightly as her eyes flew to their thighs. She was tempted to wring the damp blanket of disappointment out of them the way they loved, her arm's coolant circulating a little faster. But just as she reached for them, Quill whipped around, clutching her left thigh while their eyes shone. The gleam was familiar. Sevika had seen it many times when Quill plucked lovingly at their old guitar, when they'd solved a logistical nightmare, and when they'd figured out a radio drama twist long before the finale. "What exactly did you see when you met with her?"
Sevika leaned back into the plush red cushions, her left arm coming around to caress Quill's shoulder as she sank into thought. "Looked like the fight wasn't over for her. Not sure anything we offer will fix that. Locker room was a disgrace, too. Old equipment, rusted-over facilities. Not exactly champion worthy."
"Did she have anyone down there with her? A team, maybe?" Sevika shook her head, and Quill smiled sadly. "I have an idea. Find out more about her circumstances, then swing by me before you see her at the Pits again."
"What are you planning?"
Quill eased off the couch to take the plate, fork, and glass back to their kitchen, house dress swishing with the motion.
"To land us a champion, darling."
Bruise had dressed a little more low-key, a dark wifepleaser and a green and brown multi-panel leather jacket over her broad shoulders. She didn't flaunt most of her medals today. Wasn't much of a point if she was hoping to have the conversation go the way she wanted. But she did wear one, hanging around her neck by a gold chain with purpose. And if she made her case, Bruise wouldn't have to think about the voucher burning a hole in her pocket for nearly three days.
The windows to the office overlooking the Pits were dark. Not much could be seen outside, by design. And guarding the door to it stood Tito, thick arms crossed and a stern look on a face worn from nearly thirty years of beatings.
"Tito! What's good?" She slapped palms with the older butch and shook hands. "Management in today?"
Tito frowned. "BruiseâŚ"
"What? Just tryna pick up my pay and say hello."
The old butch's eyes softened in sympathy, the age on it obvious. Tito had retired from fighting years ago, still drawn to this place and the legacies it created. He'd had his time and let it pass gracefully. Bruise, on the other hand, was not Tito. "She didn't- she di- she didn't change their⌠answer last time, kid. Wha' makes you think it'll be⌠different?"
The chirean's easy smile faltered for a second. "Don't worry about that. I got this. Jus' tell me she in today?"
Tito sighed and opened the door. "You're guh- you guh- gonna get⌠me in trouble one of- one of these days, yyyou know that?"
"Shh, you'll be aight."
Bruise entered the room. In one corner, bets were being organized for the next few fight nights, where the money was held in multiple safes. In the other, a large blacktop board scrawled over with fighter names and tallies, planning matches out months in advance. And finally, in a corner with a rotary phone and a fat cigar in her mouth sat Dana, the Pits commissioner and management. At least the face of it. She answered to the chembarons at the end of the day. And she didn't seem to have time for Bruise.
"Thought I told Tito to tell you I was out. Or did his punch-drunk ass forget?"
The pitfighter paused, eye twitching. Still, she didn't let the easy smile she waltzed up in here with slide off her face. "It ain't his fault for real. Hard t'say no to this face."
She sat herself in the chair across from Dana without even being invited. The commissioner sighed, annoyance pinching her thin lips and a wrinkle in the middle of her forehead beneath a curl from her ginger waves. "Whaddya want now, Bruise?"
"It ain't me, it's the fans. I know y'all ain't had a sold-out gold league show in months."
"We got a title match coming up in two months."
"Yeah, between 'whoever the fuck' and 'whatsername'." Bruise wasn't trying to be funny. She really couldn't tell who would be passing the gold title back and forth like a blunt this time. "Be honest, Dana. They mad lazy, all them lil' chembaron bitches got no showmanship."
"Your point?"
"I been sold out ever since y'all put me in silver." For the first time in a while, Bruise had to sell herself. She'd hopefully laid out a pitch that would've made Dana's money-hungry mind salivate. "The commentators been talkin' 'bout me. It's obvious. Gimme a promo match."
Dana blinked, then burst out in a full-belly laugh. She slapped her desk, her thin palms thudding down on the hardwood. Bruise felt herself wilt inside, but simply clenched her fists in her pockets. She kept a cool expression as Dana sighed and wiped a tear from her eye with a bony finger. "Never let it be said you're not funny. Maybe when you retire, you can pursue comedy."
"Bitch, do I look like I'm jokin'?"
"Do I?" Dana said flatly. "The answer is no."
Bruise felt irate. She wasn't here to beg for a shot, but she wasn't leaving this office with Dana having the last word.
"Cause they say so?" Bruise scowled. "You really gon' let the chembarons punk you out like this? Lose you good money? Loyal fans?"
"I got money just fine," the commissioner chuckled, not a hint of mirth or warmth. "What I don't got is time for old ass glory seekers like yourself or fans that wanna live in the past."
The past. Bruise was only thirty-four. There had been champions, like Tito, who left a decade past that. When had the Pits gotten so comfortable writing fighters far younger off like this? Bruise knew when. Knew the signage that let all this snowball into a stifled career in a subpar locker.
"You got a sweet deal, Bruise," Dana sighed, finally ashing out her cigar and kicking her feet up on the desk. "Damn near guaranteed wins, decent pay. Keep this up, you could retire with a nice little nest egg, eh? Find somethin' else to do."
Something else. What else was there for someone like her? And since when did pricks like Dana get to decide that?
"Don't fuck it up by bitin' the hand that feeds you. Now take your pay and stay outta my office, would ya?"
There it was. Because the hands that fed her, that slid the heavy sack of silver cogs and gold hexes across the table right now, had said so. Because she refused to play ball and wear the colors of some puffed-up mob every time she performed. Because she couldn't be controlled by a table she'd never sit at.
So, on their orders, she'd be smothered instead. She knew this. It was why Dana's answer would never change. This was the only end for a former star that wasn't on a chembaron's payroll. One devoid of respect and legacy.
Her limbs felt heavy and her hackles raised, but Bruise shoved herself up from the chair and trudged back to the door.
"Bruise, wait," Dana called, sounding exhausted. The pit fighter stiffened, but didn't turn around. "Look, I hate to do this to one of my main guys. Really. You've done a lot for this place over the years. My advice? Get a damn patron already? Find someone to take care of you."
Bruise felt a vein in her forehead pulse. There was no use. She sighed, not quite deflated, and slammed the door behind her, not meeting Tito's eyes. The old butch didn't say much, not even an "I-told-you-so." He'd long known the depths of the Pits' mistreatment of top talent. He'd been the most tragic case, kept around as a warning to those who stayed in too long without the protection of a patronage. But even then, he hadn't let that make him bitter, though he had the very right.
But Bruise wasn't and could never be Tito.
"What're- are wh- what are you gonna do⌠now, kid?"
The stud rolled her balled fists in her pockets, her knuckles brushing the crumpled slip of paper from before. After that disaster of a meeting? How could she even think about proving Dana right?
But maybe⌠maybe she didn't have to do it Dana's way, or any of the chembarons for that matter. If that mysterious woman wanted to sign her, Bruise would find out just how bad.
"Kid?"
"See what the hell this 'Sevika' talkin' 'bout. You be easy now, Tito."
The lifts down into the Lanes were somewhat empty tonight, for which Bruise was grateful. She wasn't looking forward to showing up for this negotiation out of breath from scaling and vaulting to the Entresol layer. Bruise told herself this visit was just a little detour from her usual haunts. She'd fully expected to knock that odd woman⌠to knock Sevika on her ass should their refusal to sign turn into a brawl. But instead, she'd been offered a free drink. Free drinks.
And Bruise had never turned one down before.
Sighing, Bruise shoved her hands in the pockets of her dark, baggy trousers and ducked her head. The cobblestone thoroughfare was clogged with all sorts of the undercity's residents: working girls, food vendors, factory laborers, and a few mobsters guarding their fronts. She dodged to the side just as a driven buggy and carriage barrelled past her. For all the fuss made of hextech, the undercity hadn't been too far behind, automated and mechanical wonders progressing faster and faster than anyone could imagine. Down here wasn't as busy, but she still needed to keep her wits about her. Further down the street lay a crossroads forked by a building with a giant, neon green eye.
Well, the branding was interesting. As Bruise drew closer, she noticed the smaller sign with a metal keg.
"The Last Drop, huh?"
Two bouncers, half a head taller than even she, eyed her up and down. Right. The voucher. Bruise rummaged in her pocket and flashed it. One of them, a tall and thick man well on his way to balding, snatched it up from her and turned it between his fingers. Satisfied, he handed it back and nodded to the other bouncer, who pushed open the door.
She raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment but entered, greeted by strobe lights and heavy bass. Standard fare as clubs went down here. Bruise muscled her way between the pulse of bodies twisting this way and that and finally made it to the bartop. She eased onto a stool and let her eyes wander the barback, wondering which bottle she'd use her favor on first.
"If I- ahem- if I may?"
Bruise stifled a snort at the audible crack in the voice and turned her full attention to its origin. A timid-looking barkeep with choppy purple and auburn hair, a pair of fluffy ears, and a set of short antlers. Their splotched face was visibly flushed even under the thick lighting of the bar. She unfolded her arms long enough to gesture for them to continue.
"Chirean, right? I recommend a mango liqueur with a Bilgewater rum base. The concentration exceeds most vastayas' tolerance. If you're looking for a buzz you can feel? Which, if you're not, it's totally fine, I probably should've just asked what you were looking for instead of assu-"
"Whoa, whoa," the pitfighter chuckled, holding up her wrapped palms to placate them. She found it all rather cute. "It's all good. Lemme get that one. Sounds like you know what you doin'."
The deer vastaya beamed and turned to the barback to start whipping together the cocktail. Bruise watched them work, with their fluffy tail swishing back and forth, and an easy smirk found its way on her face. She hadn't come down here for that kind of pleasure, but she'd make a mental note to spin the block on the tender. They looked shy, eager to please, a bit of a motormouthâusually, her type in fems.
"Thanks�"
"Corin! Ah, friends call me Core, but that's not a lot of people, so Corin's good? But I mean if you wannaâ"
"Core sounds nice. Name's Bruise." With a smile on their face, the bartender held her drink in one hand, not quite resting it on the counter. Bruise slid the voucher on the countertop, the note facing down. "Is Sevika in?"
At the woman's name, Corin's ears swiveled up, and they beamed. Then, as if they remembered themselves, they placed the drink on the counter, crossed their lithe arms, and leaned against the barback. A carabiner on their left hip caught the club's strobe lights. Bruise's eyes flicked down briefly before attaching to the highly conspicuous look on Corin's face. Unexpected, but useful information. "Yeah, she's right up the stairs. She's been expecting someone, which I'm guessing is you?"
Bruise made a non-committal noise in the back of her throat. Of course, the bitch had banked on her coming. Like most of her type, she probably lived keeping the lives of hundreds in her hands. Now she was looking to drop Bruise into her palm all the same and watch her dance. Annoyed, the pitfighter fisted the short glass and knocked it back quickly, slamming a small cog on the bartop. She left for the stairs to the bar's right while Corin protested the tip. It was time to get this over with.
At the landing of the stairs stood one door and a small waiting area before it. The woman of the hour was perched in an armchair outside, one leg propped over her knee at the ankle, and yet another cigar between her lips.
"Took you long enough. Sit."
"Nah, I like standin' jus' fine," Bruise scoffed, arms folded. Her singular medal and matching chain glinted under the lights, resting proudly on her own broad chest. "I ain't your hitta, you not gon' talk to me like I am."
Sevika's grey eyes turned steely, but her posture didn't shift. She took another drag of her cigar and let the smoke leave her nose in thick plumes. "Charming. That scare the other barons off?"
"You don't see 'em sniffin' 'round me anymore. That answer your question?"
"Mm, I got more. Sit. Please."
Bruise arched her pierced brow, but decided to oblige Sevika this time, feet planted square as she eased into the armchair across from her. She wasn't the same livewire she'd been when the woman propositioned her in the lockers, but she needed to make sure Sevika knew she didn't trust her as far as she could throw her.
"Tell me about the Pits. You been there, what? Eighteen years?"
"Ouu, you did your homework."
"You got a great record," Sevika whistled, and Bruise's fur stood on edge. It didn't sound like a blatant attempt at flattery. It sounded like she was impressed? "So how does a performer on your win streak end up in lockers like that?"
There it was. The attempt to shrink Bruise's shoulders. She had two options. Defend Dana's neglect of the people who built the damn place, or complain to someone who had every incentive to promise her what they likely didn't have or wouldn't give.
"You wanna know how much I make now? It's a nice penny. If that's the only thing I was chasing, I wouldn't be here."
Option three: deflect. She knew the shitty cabinets and fucked up plumbing were beneath her. And so did Sevika. That wasn't why she was here. She had to set the pace and tone from the beginning.
"Do me a favor? I'm not blowin' smoke up yours. Don't do it up mine. Called you here to learn more about you and the Pits. Be honest."
"You didn't call anyone," Bruise snorted, her claws pricking into the fabric of the armchair. She wasn't trying to be difficult, but something about the calm way Sevika regarded her while probing for anything that would give her leverage pissed her off. Bruise had shown up her damn self, and she wouldn't let this meeting go like her attempted conversation with Dana. Minding her scowl, she leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and tapped the short table between them with a claw. "And I ain't come here to discuss no damn lockers."
"Then what'd you come for?"
"To find out what y'all willin' to offer. I wanna hear from the horse's mouth what you think my price is."
Sevika raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. She ashed her cigar. "Whatever you need. Within reason, of course."
"What, you think I'm gon' ask for the damn moon?" Bruise chuckled. Despite her earlier irritation, she felt herself relaxing a little in the underboss's presence. The woman was refreshingly blunt, though not entirely forthcoming.
"Told you," Sevika exhaled a thick cloud of fumes. "Won't blow smoke up your ass. Our resources ain't infinite, but we'll do what we can. That starts with finding a need. For instance, you got a cook?"
"Huh?"
Sevika's eyebrows furrowed, incredulous. "When you're injured, you got a medic? "
Bruise shook her head slowly. Where was this all going?
"What about a coach? The Pits got cutmen?"
Bruise barked out a laugh. If she didn't know any better, she'd have guessed this woman never set foot inside the Pits. "I take back my hom-ohm-workâ" She blanched, catching her error.
Sevika raised an eyebrow, and Bruise swore under her breath, feeling her hands shake despite herself. She leapt to her feet, almost panicked, but masked it as safer, practiced anger. She'd already made a fool of herself, coming down here to have her station flung back in her face. She wouldn't make it worse by slipping up even more. "Simple questionâ"
"Didn't come down here so you could get a sob story. If you can't promise shit better than a cushy ass retirement, don't bother."
"Bruise." The first time the other woman had ever used the first half of her name without the Pit moniker. Bruise turned on her heel, a razor-sharp edge to her glare. "Not the enemy here."
The chirean's pink, pierced nostrils flared, the feigned flare of a temper fighting to roil over into a real one. Not here, not now. She clenched a wrapped fist and sighed hard through her nose. Without sparing a glance behind her, Bruise stalked down the stairs, pushed through the crowd, and jogged back out onto the street. In the green night air, her whole body twitched. The way it always did when she felt small. And it had been too long since she promised herself she'd never feel small again. She'd failed twice today.
The walk back to the Promenade lifts wouldn't be long, and hopefully, the rushing in her ears would slow down by then.
"Well, Ernie, it's a simple question! The new hotshot in the Pits has a 7-2 record, and it's been a year! By now, most rookies take on The Butcher!"
"Hooch, I'm telling you, the kid's smart! The Butcher ain't Bronze league. Gunnin' for that monster during your first year's a recipe for disaster. Has everyone forgotten Imi the Invincible? Diana's just being smart. Or rather, her patron is."
"You got a point! Last signed fighter tried to go for her after a four-fight win streak. If that ain't greed, I don't know what is!"
The tinny, amped voices echoed around Quill's workspace, and her forearms rested on the desk as she pored over the house signet with a magnifying glass. Once she finished drawing it perfectly, she could begin the process to replicate it. This was the last piece in The Eyes' product hitching rides into Demacia on House Arvino's shipments, and she was almost done.
"Speak of the devil, folks, the Butcher is in the building and ready to carve up fresh meat. On the card tonight, we have the newcomer 'Cutthroat' squaring off against 'Punisher', the gold league's 'Phantom' facing 'Bloodhound', and finally, the Butcher versus Undertaker. All coming to you live from the Pits later tonight!"
Two fights before The Butcher's. Quill smiled to herself. After carving the signet and curing it, she'd be through enough of her tasks to fully sit down and take in the match. Ran would be coming over in time, too, though Sevika was currently held up at the Last Drop discussing the opening of another front along the southside harbor.
She wasn't sure when the older woman would see the Butcher again, but that hadn't put a dent in her own preparations. She'd sent for a crate of fruit through her contacts, though it had strained her personal means a little. She'd also sent for some of AnaĂŻs' backlog. Just a few first aid items, which would be delivered to her via a runner in a day. The drone of Hooch and Ernie filled the background until she'd finished the design, and pushed away from her desk, stretching out her back until it popped.
She'd made good progress through most of her workload thanks to the commentary that ran on Zaun's stations and could now set her sights on finishing up dinner. The wings she'd set in the oven were just about done, along with the home-cut fries, waiting to be tossed in a few sauces and laid out on a plate with cut celery and carrots. It was a game night staple, Quill insisting on putting together the plates herself rather than letting Ran pick something up from a stall. It added to the ritual of it all, the community and near-sacred routine of settling in by the radio to witness, or rather listen to, total greatness. Sevika had often joked she didn't get the younger woman the set simply for her to gawk over the bloody spectacle of the Pits. Still, she tried to join the two on those nights, for work purposes, of course.
Easing off her rolling chair, Quill padded to the kitchen to check on the chicken and slid on a glove to remove it, the thick smell of the spices, sweet and hot, already mouthwatering. At a sharp rap on the door, Quill maneuvered the sizzling tray to some space on the counter and reached for the fries as well. Then she tugged off one glove to open the door. Peering through the keyhole, she found her favorite familiar face: one sparkling green eye and choppy fringe staring back at her. Doing a little happy dance, she pulled open the door and swiftly pulled Ran in a hug. The mobster hugged her back as well as they could, the two ginormous cases of Demacian IPA encumbering them.
"Hey Birdy," they chuckled, lifting their full hands out of the way once Quill released them. "Smells great in there! Ionian Barbecue?"
"Your favorite!" Quill giggled, taking one of the cases from their left hand. With a grin, she set it on the counter and began to plate the flats and drums, each cut and separated by her. It was rather funny to be doing a butcher's work while listening to a fighter with the same moniker, now that she considered it. The tray looked lovely as she placed the small bowl of ranch in the center and balanced the tray as she brought it into the sitting room. Ran had cracked open one of the glass bottles with their right hand before handing it to Quill and reaching for another one. Finally set with a bounty in front of them, the two were ready to tune in to the one fighter whose incredible matches drew them in from a gory start to a glorious finish.
Quill sat forward and turned up the dial, leaning forward like she couldn't help herself.
"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to Pits 341! For all those just tuning in: tonight's card has been intense, with around fourteen fights on record! The newcomers and initiates gave some outstanding performances today, but now it's time for the star of the night: Butcher. Versus. Undertakerrrrrr!"
Ran and Quill let out their own little whoops of excitement. Tonight was another title defense. Last on the card, and against another silver league mainstay: the Undertaker. They'd slipped down from gold after a failed rank exchange from the former silver champion, Diana the Destroyer. They'd middled around in silver for months and now had a shot to leave it behind in two fights. The first of which would be going through Bruise the Butcher. Each of those fights had been fascinating, but nowhere near as enthralling as the chirean legend herself.
"Swill, tonight's been showstopper after showstopper, and now we've saved the best for last. The chirean champion who burst onto the scene nearly eighteen years ago out of nowhere."
"Don't you think 'legend' is a bit of an exaggeration, Jax?"
"What else would you call a now twenty-seven and five record? Her current win streak shows she's on the up and up. We can't ignore that, just because of a failed title defense years ago."
"I'm telling you right now, she's getting older and slower. Thirty-four is pushing it by this city's standards, let alone the Pit. Pits even gave her the underdog bet. Odds of +150 on her and -200 on Undertaker"
"And that's a crying shame! She straight-up bullied Royce weeks ago. And she's ready to put Undertaker in the ground, tonight!"
"Yeah, tell 'em, Jax," Quill muttered under her breath, reaching for a wing to put on her own plate.
Ran snickered at her enthusiasm but reached for two flats as well. "Swill's a hack. No commentator worth their salt looks at a season like this and thinks the Butcher's gonna lose."
"Right?" The two clinked their beers together as the radio mics picked up the roar of the crowd.
"Well, whatever the case, Jax, the lights in the Pits have dimmed, and the Undertaker is making her entrance!"
The radio blasted a progressive rock medley, interspliced with riotous cheering from the pits and a crowd chant. Quill sighed wistfully, picking up the notes and idly humming along. She didn't have as much time as she wanted for most of her passions since becoming a captain, though Sevika had provided her with gigs at the Last Drop whenever she wished. She wondered what the acoustics of the Pit would sound like, and if she'd get to flex a different singing voice she rarely got to try. When Sevika closed this deal, which she would, Quill had no doubt, maybe she'd ask to perform the walkout accompaniment for the Butcher. She could hear it now, dramatic electric guitar swells and deep chempowered bass, all of it heralding the arrival of a true champion. It would be an original, even.
"Coming in at 175 pounds and five-foot-nine. With a record of 28 and 2, Huda "The Undertaker" Gravessssssss." The arena's cheering picked up on the commentator and announcer mics. The Undertaker was a rapidly growing fan favorite. The commentators chimed back in. "In just a few months, she's earned herself a title shot. Headlining tonight's card is a huge opportunity. We'll see if she can make the most of it with a stellar win."
A heavier drum and bass sound filled the arena, filtering through the radio's speakers. Both fans clutched their beers in anticipation. It wasn't that Quill was partial to the sound. She knew she could do better composition-wise. Rather, it was the woman to whom the track was attached. Quill could envision her now, that signature snarl and rippling muscle, all coiled tightly and ready to spring into action. She knew the next words that blasted from the radio by heart. As did Ran, who gave her a knowing smile.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Pits 341?"
"Your four-time, currently undisputed Silver League championâŚ"
"Coming in at 205 and six foot four, with a twenty-eight and five record?"
Both she and Ran joined the obnoxious drone of the announcer.
"Bruiseeee the Butcherrrrrr!" They shouted in unison. Quill's voice held the drawn-out moniker longer than Ran could ever hope to. Years in the mines as a child and classical training in the academy had made sure of that. Ran, however, a much older butch with lungs straight out of AnaĂŻs' compendium, coughed as Quill held out and jostled her playfully.
"Fuckin' show-off."
They both tuned back in, just as the bell sounded.
"Alright, for those just tuning in, the match has begun. Butcher's throwing out a few jabs? Tryna get a feel for the Undertaker."
"Now, Swill, she's being methodical here. Undertaker's known⌠known for her takedowns. Last four matches won by submission. Kid's got serious power behind her, and you definitely wanna try and read someone like her before jumping in."
"Couldn't have said it better, Jax. Maybe Butcher's met her match in a grappler, we don't know yet⌠But she'd better get the ball rollin' soon. The crowd doesn't like all these feints."
"Must be newer fans tonight. Longtime Butcher fans know she's good with mind games, too. Okay, we're seeing a little more action⌠First blows traded of the match! That was a hard right hook, my gods! Undertaker's shaking it off, stumbling a little though. Butcher looks like she's applying pressure."
Ran reached for a few fries, chewing while they remained focused. Tonight would be a longer fight than some of the other betters had thought.
"Okay, folks, we got a wall clinch! Seems pretty tight so far, Undertaker lobbying for a takedown of any kind. Seems she's hoping to get Butcher off balance. Oh! Butcher's got a grip on her hips now! What a powerful twist, and Undertaker is ON. THE. GROUND!"
Ran clapped and leaned forward while Quill sat up straighter, pumping one arm excitedly. "Yes! Let's fucking go!"
"Undertaker's tryna shrimp, taking heavy damage from Butcher. Now, Jax, she's gotta try to get up before Butcher goes for a hold here. Not many people get out of those before a submission or passing out. Ground control is phenomenal, oh shit, she's gotta watch that arm⌠Seems like Butcher's got the same idea! And the Butcher's got 'em in an armbar! Let's see if Undertaker will twist her way outta this one!"
Quill whipped her head away from the radio set for just a second to stare at Ran expectantly. The butch set down a half-eaten wing and washed it down with the rest of their beer with a cough and sniff.
"She's got their arm trapped between her legs and driving her hips upwards. It's bent like she's gonna break it."
"Oh! Thank you, dear."
Ran smiled gratefully and tucked back in. Out of the corner of her eye, Quill could see that half the tray was nearly gone. She snickered to herself and plucked a drumstick while the commentators narrated the ground struggle.
"Okay, Swill, that arm looks close to tearing. We've seen it before, Pit careers ended by Newcomers too prideful to call it quits. If Undertaker submits now, she'll be able to walk away from this one."
"Now, Jax, you know that won't do. Here, you gotta commit. Either she flips her way outta this one, or she goes out like a true fighter."
"Well, it looks like she heard you bc we're seeing a couple flip attempts! For a 175-er, she sure is flexible!"
Quill and Ran leaned in, with bated breath.
"Come onâŚ," the butch muttered, the gears in their right hand clicking while it squeezed their left.
"So is the Butcher; the control here is tight. Undertaker's not going anywhere. Shit, we're getting⌠is that? UNDERTAKER HAS TAPPED OUT!"
Ran jumped up from the seat with a loud whoop, while Quill clapped before the two hugged, jumping up and down. Yet again, Bruise the Butcher walked away a champion. It also helped that Ran's bet, a submission by armbar, would pay out as planned.
"Bruise the Butcher has won yet another title defense in the first minute! Going on an eighteen-year career and a four-year undefeated run, she has done it again!"
"Well, Jax, the only question tonight is, will management finally give her a promotion match?"
"Swill, you think you funny, and I hate that."
"What good is bein' a title defender if you can't move up? Face it, nights like this are her only future in the Pits."
Ran sucked their teeth, scowling at the radio set. "Alright, cut that shit off."
Quill sighed and turned down the volume dial. The wings tray had less than half left, and Ran smiled sheepishly. At least they'd left her some. She swiped one more and dipped it in the sauce in the center and stared at it morosely, resting her chin in her palm, her beard tickling her skin. "It wouldn't have to be if they just gave her the shot. Gold League is languishing as a division, just the same four champions passing the title back and forth."
"Well," Ran sighed, flopping back down on the couch. They blew their longer fringe away from the tip of their nose and shrugged their shoulders. "When 'Vika signs her, maybe we could fix that?"
"Could a patron do that?"
"Probably?"
That got the gears turning in Quill's head. Though Sevika was busy tonight, she'd hoped the underboss caught the tail end of the match. This could give her another angle to work with, promise the Butcher a chance to move back up. If Silco threw enough weight around, it was a done deal. Which, as Quill laid it out in her mind, meant promising first what they might not be able to provide. It was a gamble, for sure. But Sevika had made bigger ones before and come out on top. What was one more?
"Birdy, you're thinkin' so loud I can hear it," Ran chuckled, reaching for another bottle.
"Ran, you're a genius!"
The butch cocked their head to the side, brow ridge creasing in confusion. They smiled appreciatively at the compliment, though. Quill grasped their forearms, immense and corded with years of muscle from work. That spark in her eyes was back.
"We offer her a promotion match as her first fight under us!"
"Huh, guess I am."
Quill rolled her eyes, and the two set about cleaning up. Ran left her the rest of the case, as an apology for eating her out of house and home yet again, and bid her goodbye.
Before turning in, she wanted to at least carve out the design, now that she'd finished it. Pushing aside her divider, she settled into her work chair and grabbed a uniform prism of aluminum. Taking her smallest chisel to its surface, she painstakingly carved out the crest's thin a-shape and smaller uniform flourishes. Even now, as the task demanded her whole concentration, she mulled over Ran and the announcers' words. Perhaps tomorrow, she could glean some info that would help Sevika make progress in these negotiations. When the final etch was complete, she sat up and brushed the soft metal's filings from her desk. A finished mould, and two days ahead of schedule.
From the second Quill brushed the filing from her workspace floor to the moment she slid beneath her covers, she turned the matter over in her mind, gears whirring and churning until sleep weighed on her eyelids. A little while later, she was stirred awake by the heavy footfalls of steel-toed boots. Sleepily, Quill sat up and smiled. Her heart thudded as she pulled the metal cord for her lamp. But she didn't need sight, not when she'd recognize this woman from the sound of her steps alone. She'd be right every time. Sevika's frame filled the doorway to her bedroom, the light from the hallway casting her in shadow.
"Couldn't leave me some?"
"You know Ran, darling," they giggled as the butch crossed the threshold, coming to her side in several strides. She didn't have to bend down to press a kiss to Quill's lips, claws scratching through their beard. "A bottomless pit, like yourself."
"Rude," Sevika chuckled, squishing the soft fat of their face before drawing back to disrobe. Quill's eyes raked gratefully over her figure, that broad back they'd held onto numerous times rippling under the room's warm and dim light. Their thighs shifted underneath their nightgown, squeezing imperceptibly as they shifted to fold their legs behind them, one hand idly tracing the bedcovers. Sevika turned around, chest now bare, and smirked. She knew the power she held over them with a single glance, a strip of skin, or an order. Just one of the reasons she kept them around.
She tossed her clothes into the hamper and pulled at the covers, in nothing but her boxers. She slid underneath with them. "Take it you two had fun?"
"The cordial kind. They have a busy day tomorrow."
"Mm, and you?"
Quill blushed and wound their arms around Sevika's neck, smiling shyly. "Very busy, Sir."
The two kissed, tongues mingling despite themself while Sevika's hold on their waist tightened. And as Quill had learned by now, they would always give Sevika more.
The next morning, Quill found herself continuing to turn over Ran and the commentators' words in her mind as she brushed her teeth. She'd been far too young to remember any of the Butcher's older fights, let alone the Pits themselves, and as a newer fan, she'd only ever known the Silver League run. From what she knew, the woman had been in the Pits for a while. But it didn't seem right that she was stuck in a middling division. Not with her skill or her age.
Shutting off the faucet and heading to the icebox, Quill's mind drifted back to the weekend nights with male relatives crowding into a packed house to huddle around their radio sets. While she'd helped lay out the party trays of food, she'd catch bits and pieces of violent spectacle. Not much of it had stayed with her. A sack of cold arepas was her target, and she fished it out of the ice before pulling a thick cast-iron pan from her cupboards to reheat it. She set a pot of coffee to brew as she picked her brain harder.
The most experience she had was a beloathed tĂo with the world's worst case of cauliflower ear. That strange man had been adamant that she learn a thing or two from him and try her hand as a Newcomer. She was ten and couldn't throw a punch to save her life. But then again, that hadn't stopped her family from sending her into Valoran's depths at seven, or the warehouses when she, a child, got injured in those very mines. Either way, she hadn't asked much about the Pits as a young child with mouths to feed.
"Maybe I should've," Quill grumbled glumly to herself, pouring the brew in her mug. Would've helped her figure out what exactly all of them were dealing with here. The arepas came off the stove, sufficiently buttery and mouthwateringly dense. Just as fresh as when she'd made them. She munched on a few, mulling over the matter. The negotiations had been kept hush-hush to most of the eyes except those on a need-to-know basis, and though she hadn't made captain yet, Sevika had seen fit to count her privvy to it. The show of trust made her face warm.
She wouldn't let the Underboss down. Until she saw Sevika again, the best Quill could do was gather additional information and present a foolproof plan. She set her mug in the sink, rinsing it out before padding to the bathroom. She went through the motions of her routine, plaiting her hair out of the way in a low style with a few strands out and carefully combing, moisturizing, and detangling her beard. A layer of scented lotion followed, along with a sweet perfume Fuchsia had put her onto. She still hadn't gotten used to the full face beats the older femme and her girls walked around in, but she'd religiously practiced the eyeliner tutorial, a sharp wing that showed off even under the hooded shape.
Today would be more low-key than usual, so after sliding on a long black underdress, she donned her purple button-up blouse, the short cuffs showing off the growing colorful sleeve beneath. She tied a front lacing corset over the shirt and shrugged on a black embroidered vest. Her ripped stockings followed next, rolling over thick calves and thighs. A belt with pouches for her writing implements, and pocketbooks cinched it all together. All that remained were her own thick and steel-toed boots, leaning against the wall in the short foyer.
Quill gave herself a little twirl before stopping to look at her reflection in her standing mirror. The two years since she'd been cast out of Piltover had padded her pockets enough to afford the ink lining her right arm. It was funny, now and then, being reminded she was someone to be feared now. It was also useful, she supposed. Being affiliated enough to command some respect, though much of it came from being tucked firmly under Sevika's wing.
There was little left to do inside her home today. Just the finished Arvino crest, waiting to be imprinted onto a little block of lead, tin, and antimony. Heading back out past the living room area, she pulled back her standing divider and entered the makeshift room that slowly became fuller every quarter. Over time, her assortment of tools had gone from a stash of pencils and borrowed paper to a full-on print-and-stationery shop in its own right.
She pulled up her chair and rolled it to the other end of her workspace, where the medium-sized burner stood on a shelf. She grabbed it and selected the softened block of metal before turning the small dial on the burner. The flames flickered to life, and Quill set a small ceramic bowl over them to heat. Then she grabbed a small metal plate and began to manually flatten each ingot with a ball peen hammer. When the small blocks turned into wider sheets, she dropped the lead in first, followed by the antimony. When both had softened considerably, she placed the tin inside and waited to stir, while she fished the mould from a drawer.
The details of its construction weren't a mystery to Quill, who'd purchased it secondhand from one of today's destinations. Surrounded by a wooden frame, it could be held in the hand when pouring the hot metal alloy. The matrix was clamped at the lower end of the casting channel and fixed with a metal spring. She adjusted it to the needed size, ready for casting the crest's type.
Checking on the bowl, the metal had turned to a thick sludge ready to be stirred. It had alloyed together beautifully. Taking a little rubber spon, she mixed the molten metal until well combined. This portion of her job wasn't so different from the sheer amount of cooking she'd done once moving into this place. At times, she wasn't sure how her small coal stove kept up with it all.
Once complete, she grabbed a pair of mitts and carefully poured the metal into the channel with one hand, and the wood base of the mould in the other. The wood warmed but held, and in time, it cooled. Quill carefully dismantled the mould and plucked the fresh signet block from it. Finally. She checked a clock on her wall. It was still the earlier hours of the day.
Carefully, Quill slipped the finished Arvino crest into one of her pouches. This was her highest commission from the eyes yet. And even after she sent the promised share of her check back to her family, she'd still have a pretty penny over for a frivolous expense. Possibly a new record or another piercing. After one last pass by the mirror, Quill laced her boots, ducked out of her apartment, and locked the door.
The streets in her part of the Lanes were clear in the mornings, with most laborers already well into their shifts in the local factories, and vendors not open for business just yet. She made her way to the smithing district, where a few orders needed to be picked up. Her day was already laid out before her in her mind. A stop by a local hardware store was her first errand. She would need a couple of squares of finished rubber for the stamp and a few metal ingots for its setting. Next was a few blocks from the print house, not too far. She'd chipped a few during a rushed commission, and the letters had begun to visibly corrupt during the process. Last on the list was a few parts for her own steam-powered screw press. Chemtech was useful, but volatile and too corrosive with her current workshop setup. But steam, the forgotten yet versatile bedrock of the city's many earlier innovations, was abundant in supply. The assembly in general was labor-intensive, but if she could hack this, she'd manage to spare herself hundreds in silver cogs on blocks.
The planned route would take her to the Last Drop, closed for the evening as the Eyes had been summoned for a monthly report and new directives. She'd set out early enough to hopefully achieve some of her other goals for today. And by the time she entered the bar's doors, maybe Quill would have enough information to find information that would help Sevika close out a deal on the pitfighter.
Her thoughts kept her company on the way to a building of dark brick and dingy steps. There were bars over the windows and a sign that read Gorham & Sons. Cracking open the thick green door set off a chime, and an old man puttered from behind the desk, glasses low on his thick nose.
"'Eyyy, if it ain't my favorite pencil pusher! Welcome back, Quill!"
"Nice to see you, Mr. Gorham," the scribe smiled back. "That congestion sounds like it's cleared up."
"That soup did the trick. And that tea. Can't thank you enough, kid. What can I help you with today?"
"Just came in for some settings and a yard of rubber."
"You in luck, kid. Just got a shipment from some islands 'round Ionia yesterday. Darren'll show you to 'em. Darren! Turn that damn radio down and get yo' ass out here!"
Quill giggled at Gorham's antics. Not a second later, though, a young man with hair braided to his skull in patterns and ending in beads, with a thin black mustache and a leather working apron, came down the steps near the shop's backrooms.
"Hey, Miss Q!" Darren grinned. "New project already?"
"There's always something."
"Girl, tell me about it. Well, c'mon now. Don't wanna keep you too long."
Quill followed Darren to the store room. True to Gorham's word, the rubber hadn't been priced and put out yet for common sale. On a shelf near the window, a radio blared. Hooch and Ernie, again, droned on about the Newcomer matches.
"Keeping an eye on the open challenges today?"
"Yeah. Jay's got a promotion shot at three and I ain't tryna miss it." A fond smile split the young man's lips. His boyfriend had been working hard, and after leaving Initiate status, he'd get a shot at Bronze. He'd been a long-time fan of the Pits, even before the two years Quill had spent here. And he was just the person she wanted to see.
"You can't ask for a day off?"
"Chile, please," Darren sighed. "Pops' really on one today. Still going on about me taking over after he old and gray. Won't push my luck. Radio's good enough to listen to from home."
Quill smiled in understanding. Gorham could be a hard ass at times, but the man was old. It was only natural that he would be worried about the shop and his only kid continuing the legacy. But now that she'd landed on the targeted subject, she could move closer to her visit's second purpose. "So, are there any other fights you're excited for soon?"
"Butcher's got this one coming up in four weeks. Title defense, as usual."
"What's up with that? She's so much better than that league."
"Tell me about it. Gold run was insane."
The Butcher had been in gold before. Quill hadn't known this. Nearly none of the stations mentioned it. Somewhere along the line, she'd lost enough to slip down a division. As surreptitiously as she could, Quill pressed for more.
Slowly, she pressed for more info. "Do fighters drop leagues often?"
Darren scoffed as he lifted a stack of boxes out of their way and shimmied between some crates. "Bronze league journeymen do all the time. Not Gold fighters though, unless they really goin' through it."
"Is that what happened to Butcher?" She might've overplayed her hand, but if she could get the context the Eyes had missed or neglected in one visit, this could make a difference.
"Girl, what do you think? Nobody that talented loses three fights back to back and gets demoted unless life's smacked the taste out they mouth."
"Darren! Quit wastin' that young lady's time with that fightin' nonsense! Them nails shoulda been unboxed yesterday!"
The young man sighed in exasperation and dug up the box of bronze and silver ingots before grabbing a crowbar and prying open a box near the front. The scent of fresh rubber filled the cramped space, and he reached in to hand Quill a rolled yard. "Gotta go, Miss Q. These what you lookin' for?"
"Yes, thank you, Darren," Quill nodded and picked through the ingot box. Today had been a little more fruitful than she thought. If today's next two stops hadn't proved helpful, she could always pop around Gorham's, maybe with a tray of cookies to match the teas, and pry a little more info out of Darren. "I'm sure Jay will do great today!"
"He better! Otherwise, I might give Tony a call back, hello!"
The two shared a chuckle, and Quill bid him goodbye before heading to the front desk to pay for her supplies.
"Aight, Quill," Gorham yawned, popping his back as he eased off his stool. "That'll be forty washers and a cog."
Quill dug in her coin purse and counted out the bronze pieces and singular silver coin before placing them in Gorham's waiting palm. "Pleasure doing business as always."
"Don't be a stranger now," He grinned. "Might have a few discount tools with your name on 'em."
She nodded before casting a glance back at the storage, where Darren was prying open the nail crate.
"You should let up on him a little."
"Not if he gon' run this shop. I won't be around forever, so I gotta light a fire under his ass now and then. He'll be aight."
No dice. Hopefully, the two could talk it out on their own time, and she knew better than to pry this way. Sighing, Quill thanked Gorham for the supplies, tucked the rubber and ingots into her canvas bag, and set out for the print house.
The sky had gotten a little thicker as the factories started up for the day. Thanks to the sharp fall off the Lanes that had been built in, not much sunlight reached down here. Over two hundred years since the isthmus explosion had allowed the land to settle somewhat, and most Zaunites were quick to adapt to practically living on top of each other. The nature of their little crack in the ground trapped so much smog; most days, it was hard to see three feet in front of oneself. The vents cleared what they could, but it wasn't a cure-all. Quill dug out a scarf from the bottom of her bag to wrap around her mouth and nose, the hairs of her beard catching on the purple fabric.
Her intel from Darren had been helpful. There'd been some sort of setback in the Butcher's career. And if she could figure out the cause, she could find Sevika some additional leverage. Of course, Quill had to think about the pitch. In truth, she didn't know if Silco would go for such a bold move. She considered the risk. It would need to make the reward sound bigger than the risk. The shimmer trade had left him dominant among the other kingpins of the undercity, but they still had their own pockets of Zaun. This was a delicate balance that needed to be respected at all costs. And signing someone who'd been stuck in silver despite her obviously unparalleled skill? Was that asking to upset the scales?
Her musings kept her company until she arrived at Divine Winds Press, a print house run by a Lhotlan with dark feathers named Fadoul. She peered into the small shop window and pushed open the dark door, greeted by the smell of ink and softened metals as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit interior. The scrape and screech of claws sounded out above her head, along with an old squawkish voice.
"Good Morning. Much to do, so do hurry."
"Morning Mssr. Fadoul! Do you have any spare blocks? I need a few, since they've chipped."
"Chipped blocks," the voice clucked, clearly dismissive. "Not good. May have some spares in back of shop. It'll cost."
Quill frowned slightly. She'd budgeted for a bit of bargaining today, but had hoped to get the blocks for relatively cheap. "I can offer two silver for four?"
"Three silver."
"Two silver. And I'll throw in an extra muffin next time I visit, along with a pitcher of walnut tea."
Fadoul finally descended from the rafters, talons clutching along the ropes that crisscrossed along the shop's ceiling. Their eyebrows, pinched behind the small glasses perched on their curved nose were slightly askew and smudged with ink.
"Trouble with the linotype?" Quill giggled. Fadoul's frown deepened as their eyes widened.
"How did you guess?"
She glanced pointedly at the pushed-up forearms of the shirt under their vest, streaked with ink and tiny pinch lines, likely from having tried to fix the matrices in the distributor. Fadoul yanked down their sleeves and rolled their eyes.
"Two silver. And the desserts. And you take a look at that machine."
"That's a lot of work. It'll cost you more than four blocks, don't you think?"
Fadoul's eyes narrowed. "Fine. What do you want?"
"Do you know anything about the Pit?"
"That den of violence?" They all but scoffed, thin, sharp brows furrowed in confusion. "No. I keep to myself and quite like it that way. What could a sweet kid like you possibly want with that place, eh?"
"Just a new fan. Don't you print posters for them sometimes?" Fadoul nodded slowly, curious as to where all this was going. "Do any of their runners ever mention anything about champions?"
"You mean a champion, don't you?"
Quill grinned widely, and the old bird sighed, raking a hand through their pushed-back hair.
"All this run-around. You'd better throw in an extra muffin. Their runners are big fans of that, how you say? Butcher? Her, I think. Crowd favorite but no promotion. Not sure why."
"Fadoul, please. Haven't they been coming to you for a while? You must know something."
"Apparently, she had a fall from grace. It was big and, from what it looks like, not entirely uncoordinated by whoever's in charge. Anyways, that's all I know. I don't concern myself with those brutes anyway. Your precious blocks are in the back, and that blasted printer's upstairs. Get started, uh?"
Quill shook their wiry hand in her plump ones and hurried up the stairs to wrangle the printer into shape. The work was familiar, having worked as their print devil when they could no longer labor in the mines for their family. After carefully resetting the elevator and wiping the wet ink from her hands, she plucked the blocks she'd bargained for from a spare box, pressed two silver cogs into Fadoul's palm, and hurried out the door.
More than she'd bargained for. Seemingly, it was somewhat known that Bruise the Butcher's career had been sabotaged at some point. And judging from who actually ruled the Pits by now, that long table of barons Silco sought to control, it would be a hard sell to upend what looked like a plot four years in the making.
Regardless, this might give Sevika a leg up in negotiations. And luckily, The Last Drop was Quill's next stop.
There were benefits to being hired muscle. Most people easily forgot you were there in the first place if you were quiet enough. Ran's whole morning had involved shadowing some bookie for the Pits manager, a show from Silco to curry favor with the manager. A ghost of a smile settled on their full lips as they remembered Sevika's relieved rant the other day, once she heard of this assignment. It was about time their boss finally took this seriously.
So far, the mousey bookkeeper, a timid and short fellow named Bob or Rob or something, hadn't run many errands on their way to and from the Pit. He did have this rather irritating habit of hacking up a lung into an increasingly soggy handkerchief before tucking the visibly damp cloth back into his breast pocket.
Being privvy to a rather disgusting habit aside, Ran had shadowed him through a host of other relevant activities. They hadn't remained too close to their charge visibly; that was just a bad look that would easily tip off a few other observant eyes and ears around town. And the last thing a fledgling mob needed was this many eyes when they had their own on a fighter.
As Ran followed a good number of paces behind the sniffling and wheezing bookie, their thoughts turned to last night's broadcast. And the nearly three months of live fights, re-runs, and commentary discussions blaring from their own radio and Quill's. They'd had a moderate interest in the Pits before, distantly remembering one of their moms having some family over to listen to a few matches. Once they'd left for good to follow Sevika into this godforsaken world, they hadn't much time to sit around a radio set, let alone see one in person. They hadn't remembered how much they loved hearing feats of brutality and triumph over the airwaves until her.
A champion smeared in black paint, with daunting claws and a figure to rival their own lover. The temper and sheer wickedness, too. A woman who left no opponent standing. Who commanded that lawless hole with ease every time she stepped into it.
Bruise the Butcher. If the posters did her any justice, her looks killed as well as her fists did. They'd thought more than once about showing up to a match or two, but once Sevika had her eye on the fighter, there was protocol to be followed. Still, maybe they'd get their chance when she did get signed. It was a when, in Ran's mind. Sevika always delivered, regardless of whether anyone gave her the tools to succeed or not.
Of course, they would do anything to make her job easier, because gods knew she needed easy. So today, that entailed picking up whatever information they could during this bookkeeper's errands. The current street wasn't too busy as far as the promenades were concerned, but Ran managed to find enough cover in the occasional passing body, horseless carriage, and sharp turn. Down the thoroughfare, their charge ducked down an alley and knocked in an irregular pattern on a sheet metal door. Ran swore under their breath. They weren't quite cleared to follow after their assignments in events like this. They breathed a sigh of relief when the man didn't enter, instead fishing a pouch of coins from the inside of his cloak. A pair of hands reached out and opened the small bag, rummaging around in its contents before closing the bag and chucking it at the bookkeeper. The small alley carried the emerging quarrel to Ran's ears.
"You lousy bookie, you shortchanged us!"
"I assure you!" stammered Bob, Rob, whatever his name was. "This is simply the amount congruent with the new odds for that match! You bet on the Butcher, did you not?"
"And she won. So why the fuck did you bring me less money than I wagered?"
Ran's brow ridge flew to their hairline.
"I-I'm sorry, sir. Pit's policy! Her odds have changed this month!"
"Hmph, see if I ever bet on that fuckin' heel ever again. Gimme back my winnings and scram!"
The hired muscle almost felt bad for how Bob-Rob scrambled to his feet and simperingly offered the bag back to the rather irate fan. Still, it wasn't a serious threat to the man's life. So they weren't to interfere. The metal door slammed shut, and Bob-Rob dusted himself off before spitting at the now-empty threshold. He skulked his way back out of the alley, not even bothering to glance at Ran, who tailed him yet again on his way back up to the Pit. That had gone poorly for him, unlike his other deliveries, but it did yield some benefit. Someone, or multiple someones, were fixing the Pits' bets. Which meant for RanâŚ
Shit. They'd definitely fucked up their parlay on last night's match thanks to the new odds. They didn't regret it. She was a surefire win, and betting against her was possibly the dumbest thing one could do at this rate. It made sense to give her discouraging odds, but to change it right before or after matches without letting the fans know? It didn't seem as practical as it did retaliatory. There was a message being sent to the fans that gambled on the Pit⌠and potentially, a message the Eyes had missed.
Against their better judgment, Ran crept closer to the bookkeeper just outside a rather crowded area. Silco's territory was the Lanes, not this section of the Promenades. So they'd have to corner him without drawing a bunch of eyes. Just as they came up on his cloaked form, they produced a smaller dagger from their thigh, slipped it under his cloak, and pointed it at the small of his back. Their freehand, the right mechanical one, clapped heavily on his shoulder.
"Bob-Rob! Buddy! Let's chat."
"It's Rupert!" shrieked the bookkeeper.
"Same thing," Ran chuckled, squeezing the life out of the bookkeeper's shoulder. "Now don't scream. I got questions, and you're gonna answer 'em for me, okay?"
"Wait till I tell Da-mmph!"
"Shh," Ran chastised, pressing the tip of the blade against the thin fabric of his shirt. "I don't wanna hurt ya, man. I'm sure Dana wouldn't mind us havin' a conversation."
Having got the message, the bookkeeper settled down, and Ran removed their metal hand from his mouth. Scanning the street for any alleys and finding none, their eye alighted on a small descending step below street-level of a boarded-up shop. Perfect. They steered the shorter man down there, partially bracketing him in. They'd followed him on foot without breaking a sweat the entire morning, whereas he slipped out that same soggy handkerchief to cough up his damn pipes. He wouldn't be able to get far if he tried booking it now.
"What- HAUGHK- what do you wanna know?"
Ran frowned, knowing that to most people, it would come across as a dour scowl. "How often do y'all lower the Butcher's odds?"
"The Bu- ACAUGK- oh no, I can't answer that!" Bob-Rob turned to bolt, not getting far as Ran yanked him back by his collar.
"Easy, buddy. Just answer the question."
The bookkeeper trembled like a leaf and swallowed nervously. Ran wished they had Sevika's eyebrows just this once. It would've made for a somewhat effective and expectant look. They folded their arms, knowing the gesture brought out the meat of their forearms.
"We-we've been changing it for four years!"
"Why?"
"We're hemorrhaging cash each time she- ACK- OUEGH- fights. Guh-guaranteed wins ain't- KMPH- good for the house!"
Ran thought back to Swill and Jax's conversation on the radio. "Wouldn't it be easier to promote her? Give 'er fights with people that stand a chance?"
Bob-Rob coughed and sniffled again, around a nervous but wry laugh. "Well, no, not after she gave the finger to the board four years ago."
Ran straightened up at that and advanced closer to the bookkeeper, who yelped and scrambled backwards. They crouched to his eye level and placed their right hand on his shoulder.
"Great job, buddy. Just one more thing. This talk never happened, alright?"
Bob-Rob nodded frantically, throat bobbing with more nervous swallowing. "W-w-what talk?"
Ran's singular green eye searched his, and satisfied by the utter terror, they smiled, baring a bit too many teeth.
"Awesome. Let's get ya back to your boss. Wouldn't wanna keep her waitin' would we?"
They hauled Bob-Rob up out of the steps behind them and accompanied him all the way to the plaza where the Pits stood.
For all the resources the chembarons siphoned from the already downtrodden people of the undercity, they sure knew how to make something glamorous of their theft. The Pits, at one point a dingy sporting club built around a naturally occurring ditch, was now an immense stadium. The front was rounded and lined with gas lamps that illuminated six double-door entrances. The brick and ironworked facade all culminated in a beautiful glassworked dome. It was the kind of place that drew in nearly every kind of audience member looking for a spectacle of truly magnanimous proportions.
Ran followed Bob-Rob to a side entrance solely for staff and slipped in behind him. The corridors were just as awe-inspiring as the entire building's exterior, lit by electric lamps inside. It was nearly a maze, with small directories to the gym facilities, the lockers, and the Pit itself. The cement floor echoed with each footfall of the two's boots as Bob-Rob led them to a door. Inside were three flights of narrow stairs.
"Lifts- heh- out of- of service today! Hope you don't mind."
Ran shook their head slowly and gestured for the bookie to keep leading the way. He turned around and wheezed and hacked his way up each flight. Ran was surprised the nasty handkerchief wasn't dotted with blood by this point. They were grateful for his sake when they finally reached the landing. It appeared to be the back entrance to some kind of overhang to the Pit, its windows mostly tinted.
"After you," Ran insisted, not ignorant of potential ill intentions that often befell goons. The bookkeeper stammered apologetically as he unlocked the door and stepped inside, holding it open for Ran.
Inside was dimly lit, with a few swinging lamps and thick cigar smoke filling the interior. Ran didn't take much time to sightsee, though they kept an eye out for where the money seemingly changed hands. They kept close behind Bob-Rob as he made his way towards a large desk. Behind it sat a thin woman with red hair and an obnoxiously large cigar in her mouth. She paused briefly to look up as they approached.
"Hm. Fine work, from Silco, lettin' you return my bookie this late."
Ran opened their mouth to defend their boss when Bob-Rob piped up. "Muh-my fault! Truly. Took a few wrong turns today! Must've been the humors."
Dana glanced between the two suspiciously but said nothing as she tossed Ran a bag of silver cogs. The henchman breathed a sigh of relief to themself. Looked like they'd gotten the point across to the mousey bookkeeper after all.
"Well. For your troubles. Got him back in one piece. Meeting your chembaron when he finally picks a fighter should be interesting. Gold league's got a lot to offer the Eyes."
Ran felt their eye twitch, but nodded in a slight bow and turned to leave. They weren't here to pass along any messages. Simply scope out what they could and guard a bookkeeper. Luckily, they'd return with far more valuable intel than even Silco could've hoped.
Finding their way back down the stairs, they set out for the Last Drop.
"Sir! I got updates!"
Sevika looked between the two as they burst through the door to the Last Drop at the same time. She'd just dealt a hand of cards with Gustove while waiting for the rest of the captains and goons to arrive. Leaning back in her chair, she waved a hand at them. "Well. Speak."
Quill looked around the circle of other members. Those who weren't clued in on the process of courting the pit fighter probably shouldn't overhear the intel she and Ran had carefully gleaned. She looked over at the hired muscle, deferring to their place in the order. Ran nodded and turned back to Sevika. "Confidential."
That was all they needed to say. Setting down her hand, she jerked her chin for the two to follow her into one of the second-floor rooms. Only Silco really held a proper office, but a few stores of rusted and older ammunition and weaponry, to say nothing of the unmoved shipments of high-grade shimmer, were housed above the bar as well in their own rooms. It was as secluded as the three would get, save for an audience with the chembaron himself.
Sevika yanked open a particularly stuck door, disturbing thicker clouds of dust, before motioning inside to the two. Ran let Quill head in first before following, as Sevika shut the door behind them all.
"Alright, out with it. Daily assignments and debriefs go out in five minutes, so make it fast."
"The Pits, sir." Ran began. "They been changin' the Butcher's odds. It's retaliatory, and the other chembarons are in on it. Been goin' on four years."
Sevika caught Quill's eyes, widening slightly, the same look the younger woman had when she finally received the final vital piece of intel crossing her light brown features.
"And you?"
"She used to be in the gold league before slipping down to silver, sir. Also, four years ago. Was the gold title-holder before that. There are widespread rumors of foul play or other sabotage. Further back, there seems to have been an event of some kind that set all this in motion."
Sevika folded her arms, metal and flesh, an unreadable look in her eyes. In truth, she was proud that both had the competence and initiative to find and bring this intel back, but part of her was worried as to how either of them, but especially Quill, had received it.
"Your source?" she asked Ran.
"One of Dana's bookkeepers, this morning. Got called on it by a disgruntled gambler. Did a little prying myself afterwards."
"Sure they won't talk?"
"He's scared shitless. Trust, he won't be snitchin' anytime soon."
The underboss turned to Quill. In truth, the urgency of the news hadn't distracted her much from the way the young femme had layered and chosen their outfit. Even the carefully finger-curled strands framing their temples caught her gray gaze. Focusing on work matters was never difficult for Sevika, but it seemed Quill, in all their earnest embrace of who she knew they were, was determined to distract her. She tore her eyes away from the outward swell of their embroidered vest. Right. Their intel.
"You. Your source?"
"A hardware store owner. Or his son, rather. Darren's quite the fan and knows a lot, so he's likely-"
Sevika kissed her teeth, and Quill immediately quieted. "Keep it brief, kid."
"Yes, sir," Quill assented, and started again, slowly, with the bare essentials. "Darren from Gorham & Co. And Fadoul from Divine Winds Press."
"Good job, you two. Now downstairs. Meeting starts soon," she let a slight smile tug at her lips as the two visibly relaxed. They'd done well, and once the day had ended, she'd figure out appropriate rewards for each, knowing just her attention and satisfaction were enough for either of them. "Meet at Quill's tomorrow by midnight, understand?"
Ran and Quill both nodded before Sevika opened the closet to let all three of them out. Finally, Sevika had what she'd missed in her probing and prodding for what would buy the fighter's allegiance. A woman starved of respect and of the opportunity to claim what she viewed as her rightful place. And perhaps, if Silco were convinced to flex enough influence, to shake the table as he had from his initial takeover, Sevika could promise Bruise that much.
Not much longer, the Eyes had gathered on the main floor of the Last Drop. Everyone had snagged the available regular chairs, leaving Quill a stool and Ran to perch against a wall. Without being told, Quill slipped out her pocketbook and a fountain pen, ready to etch symbols only she understood onto its pages as a record. Not a moment later, the bar's entrance opened, and Silco, flanked by three captains, entered. As he advanced through the space, the captains each found their own seating. He didn't stop until he'd reached the landing of the stairs. With a curt nod, he continued up the stairs and shut the door behind him.
Turning back to the assembled Eyes, Sevika began. "We'll start with muscle. Ran, Gustove."
"Shadowed a bookkeeper today," Ran grunted. "The Pits' manager is impressed. Looks forward to final scouting decision."
"Shipment to the hexgates went off without a hitch. Helped that a certain someone wasn't involved today."
Everyone in the room shivered at that. Luckily, the little blue-haired terrorist was stuck on that old factory fan, putting together another glittery munition that would inevitably backfire. They could all meet in relative peace this morning. Sevika didn't bother acknowledging Dustin. Nobody was quite sure what his assignment was beyond licking some random lamp post.
"New assignment. Some runners reported mismanagement at the harbor factories. Get there, scope it out, rough up whoever you need. Alive 'til we figure out who needs to be made an example of. Take Dustin with you."
The two nodded once and shouldered their way out of the bar, with Gustove snatching Dustin's lanky form up by the collar on the way out. Sevika turned back to the remaining members. A few bookkeepers, the scribe, and the three captains.
"Quill. The Arvino commission?"
The scribe lifted her head from the journal briefly and rummaged in a pouch strapped to her hip. She withdrew the completed print block and stood from her stool to hand it to the underboss. Sevika's fingers brushed hers just a little longer than necessary as she turned it around in her hands. The work was of quality, as usual. And two days ahead. "The stamp will be completed by the deadline, sir."
"See Tucker about your pay after the meeting," she grunted, handing the block back. "Your next assignment comes through tomorrow. Have a runner ready to pick it up in the morning."
"Yes, sir." Quill ducked her head and returned to the stool, jotting the exchange in the margins.
The three captains each provided their own reports. There were little to no signs of trouble in two territories, and a few junior Slickjaws were jockeying for a few front businesses in the third. That territory's captain, Yaaba, had shown up in her usual purple plumage, bald head reflecting the barlights.
"Has it escalated?" Sevika asked, one perfect brow raising at the news.
"They've robbed one front. No immediate harm to the shopkeep or her family, though threats were made."
"What kinds?"
Captain Yaaba's brow creased. "Further robberies, assault of a runner. I could use some muscle to restore order."
"I'll pass it along. After the factory's investigated, Ran and Gustove can pay 'em a visit for you. In the meantime, all three of you should keep a better eye on your territory. Now ain't the time to let the snakes in the grass. You were made captains for a reason. Try to remember why."
With a curt nod, the three captains stood and nodded their heads. They lingered a little longer; after all, they'd get their own audiences with the boss himself. The bookkeepers each brought their ledgers to her for a review. Once satisfied, she sent them to Quill to get their papers encrypted and the original figures destroyed. The meeting over, that left one task before her other duties for the day. And she could only hope it would go as smoothly as the meeting.
She proceeded up the stairs to Silco's office and knocked three times.
"Enter."
She sighed and pushed open the dark wooden door. Sevika had needed the wiry man's ear the past few months. Handling her usual workload and more "pressing" business had outweighed the newer mission of recruiting a pitfighter, according to him. Like always, she delivered flawlessly, without complaint, only to be subject to a dismissive hand wave and further directives. Now, Silco sat with his chair turned in the other direction, gesturing carelessly as Sevika shut the door behind her.
"What is it now?"
"The fighter, sir," she began, even as her eye twitched. "She's difficult, but she's got a price. A promotion match. First fight under us."
"And why would I do that?"
The underboss felt her nostrils flare but sighed. She had the pitch down. Knew the situation was a hard sell, but Ran and Quill had busted their asses getting her the info she needed. She wouldn't fumble this at the last second. "You're the only baron without a fighter, Sir. This one's the best."
"Not according to any of the chembaronies. Or Dana. Had that been remotely true, she would've been signed already."
"Sabotage, sir," she gritted out from clenched teeth. "Orchestrated. Bets are fixed against her, and her placement shoulders the blame for Dana's own managerial failings. You sign her, and the other chembarons fall in line. Yaaba's already dealin' with Slickjaw shits pushin' on her territory. We got the chance to send a message."
Silco pursed his lips and looked into the distance, as if he were seriously mulling over her words. He rose from his desk and collected a few papers. Then he spoke. Measured, slow, and positively dripping in condescension. "Where did you gather such information? I assume your sources are infallible for you to push the matter, as you do."
"One of Dana's own bookkeepers. Along with dedicated fans. Things we couldn't keep an eye on until our operation finally got legs. What more do you need? Complete victories for four years. Secure her, and the Eyes have a deadly reputation. Fail here? You'll be left with chembaron chaff."
"What a charming metaphor. I didn't take you for farming stock. Nor did I take you for a chembaron. No. I seem to remember I hired you for the express purpose of doing as directed. Yet you bring me useless rumors and gossip. So hear me now: you either hire the fighter without this foolish offer. Or you find a different kind. I hear the gold league is crawling with talent, no?"
Sevika felt her shoulders tense with the dismissal. Even now, with months of methodically scoping out a competitor and doing her best to balance all her other moves for the eyes, this stubborn and utterly disaffected man couldn't possibly understand the stakes. She knew he wasn't utterly incompetent, which left one other possibility.
"You're scared."
"What did you just say?"
It was true, compared to a few other chembaronies, the Eyes were new. Fragile in a way, and had much catching up to do. Shimmer money only got them all so far; even now, they struggled to get the drug past Bilgewater. All the other balances of order had to be respected, if they didn't want to foolishly incur the ire of the much older, much more resourced chembarons.
"You're scared, or jealous. Don't give a shit which one's more true. I get it's only been four years. Been in survival mode until the last one. But we can't give up an advantage this big to stay comfy. When I followed you, it wasn't just cause of those plans, the charts, the resources. Followed you because you knew shit don't get done without risk. This fighter? She's that risk."
Sevika let out a breath she didn't know she was holding, though she maintained her steely glare. But this was one risk Sevika could see panning out. The soft power attached to what was possibly a former legend, someone the entire apparatus had to conspire to keep where she was, representing the Eyes on a climb back to the top? A rhetorician, which was honestly Silco's strong suit, should've seen the image it would craft for them all.
It had to be her. And it had to be this match.
"You want respect in that boardroom? You wanna finally grow instead of gettin' by? You want the Lanes to know the power you have? The greatness you can lead them to? Get your head out your ass and strike now."
Silco's eyes narrowed, and Sevika didn't miss how he shrank in on himself by a fraction. His job wasn't to be strong. He knew what it was like to deal with those who didn't belong in power. To follow their lead aimlessly, hoping anything would give. That the gamble of following behind their leadership was worth it. His job was to be confident and sure. To make the right calls and the hard ones. And to give a damn when those he claimed to trust had a point. His one blue eye and the eclipse of his left finally regarded Sevika with something other than general disregard.
"Very well. You may meet with the fighter again. The next time you report to me, you'd better have good news."
For the first time in a while, Sevika didn't feel bile in her throat when she responded, "Yes, sir."
By the time she dragged herself to one of the few places in this city where she could drop her shoulders, Sevika was exhausted, a migraine brewing in the back of her head. She wanted nothing more than to receive the care and release she knew awaited her behind that apartment door. She didn't bother knocking, having entered Quill's apartment both in their presence and absence. It really had become a habit over the two years since the young woman crash-landed into this cavern they all called home. The light was on, and the aroma of some amazing dish wafted from the inside.
She'd also returned on memory of Quill's earlier request. Now that Silco had finally seen reason, Sevika planned to return to the Pits tomorrow and finally put the new strategy to the test. That wouldn't prevent her from arranging a premature reward for the diligence of her dog and favorite toy.
Like clockwork, Quill was at the door ready to accept her cloak and usher her to the small dining table waiting for all of them.
Ran was already at the table as well, with a slight pout on their face. They perked up the second Sevika sat down on their left and jostled their shoulder.
"Ain't take that long, mutt."
"Food's been ready for fifteen minutes. You're lucky I got manners."
"They were well behaved," Quill giggled, already dishing out servings of the warm soup she'd spent the afternoon preparing. The mixture of veggies and translucent noodles in a thick orangey broth had both Ran and Sevika's stomachs screaming. "Only had to smack their hand away from the musubis three times."
In the center of the table sat a full plate of seaweed-wrapped spam and rice blocks, still warm, and unpilfered by the other henchman. No small feat given Ran's bottomless pit tendencies. Next to it was a pitcher of tea, and three brown bottles of malt liquor. Once the soup was ladled out in truly enormous bowls before the two, and Quill finally took her seat, the two gave their thanks and dug in. The scribe smiled broadly at the two before tucking into her own bowl.
"Gods, been lookin' forward to this all week," Ran groaned around a mouthful of rice and meat. Sevika smacked them on the side of the head. "Ow."
The underboss chuckled at how they rubbed at their hair, while Quill passed her a bottle of malt. "Your mamas raised you better, c'mon."
"Glad you like it," Quill smiled. "I had to clear out the fridge for tomorrow's shipment, and my runners don't inhale as much food as the two of you, so that killed two birds with one stone."
Ran snickered at that, even as they shoveled another spoonful of the soup in. Despite being made from her leftover stock, the cabbage and dumplings agreed in texture, and the sauce Ran added to theirs added the right amount of sweet and savory.
"Got another box comin' to you in a day."
"I should be out of supplies around then, so thank you. And my other shipment from Anais came in as well."
Sevika's spoon slowed at that. "Didn't get any injury reports."
"Oh no, darling," laughed the scribe. "It's for the other reason I asked you over."
"The fighter?"
Quill nodded and poured a glass of iced tea for herself, the blend yet another gift from a dear friend down here. She took a sip before excusing herself to the kitchen once more. Sevika glanced briefly at Ran, who had obnoxiously drained their bowl and already reached for the pot and ladle in the center.
"The hell's she planning?"
"Dunno. You gonna eat that musubi?"
Sevika snatched it up before Ran's hand could even reach for the plate. They pouted but reached for their own bottle of malt instead, just as Quill came back into the dining "room."
In her hands, she held a large, shiny red pail, not unlike the ones miners sometimes carried tools or meals in. Or like the ones Quill prepared for her on particularly long days. The underboss raised an eyebrow.
"For the Butcher. We can give her what she wants and what she needs. Though I'd suggest leading with this."
The move was calculated but sincere, and Sevika found herself impressed yet again by the scribe. She kept this up, and in a couple of years, she could find herself higher in the ranks. Still, the corner of her eye twitched. "Made her a lunch?"
"Care package, actually! There's some high-grade medical supplies in here, a couple of fresh fruits, and yes, a lunch. A few musubis is all."
Ran laughed, reading her scowl for its true nature: A pout. "Don't be jealous, Vika, it's just one pail. Quill made you one for each day of the week yesterday."
The underboss shot a sidelong glare at the henchman, but took the pail from Quill and set it on the table.
"Came here to reward hard work," she scoffed. "But clearly someone's feelin' mouthy."
"Oh, c'mon, don't be li-"
"Shut up. Go wait in her room. Not a stitch of clothin' on ya, understand?"
Despite Ran's initial protests, they couldn't hide the wide grin on their face as they got up from the table and quickly put their dishes in the sink before scampering off to the bedroom. Stifling a chuckle at her dog's urgency, Sevika turned on Quill and gripped the younger woman's face with the claws of her left hand. Lightly, she scratched at the skin under their beard, grey eyes burning a hole into brown ones.
"Fine strategy. But I got the feelin' you're sweeter on 'er than you're s'posed to be."
Those sharp and shiny eyes slowly glazed over with the tight hold the underboss maintained on their face, a giddy smile taking over. "Is that an issue, sir?"
There wasn't a bratty bone in Quill's body, that Sevika knew. The question was genuine, and it only made the urge to see them suffer for it stronger.
"Not as long as you remember who you do this for. And I think you need remindin'."
When she set out from the scribe's apartment the next morning, that same heavy red pail in her grip, she planned out the offer. If the Butcher hadn't just come from a fight, negotiations might go better this time around. And luckily, one hadn't been announced for nearly a month. Ran mentioned there were training facilities in the arena's construction. It was possible she'd find her there. She'd offer this first, maybe pry a bit more if the champion didn't close up on her again.
The Eyes also couldn't spare any muscle or lower-level runners to tail them without tipping off the other barons. And given their particular gripes against the Butcher, that was out of the question. So that left her guessing. Something she loathed. No open challenges were running today, meaning the Pit itself was empty. She flagged down a janitor and followed them to the basement. The training room she'd been shown to had more than its fair share of fighters beating heavy bags that hung from the ceiling, sparring on large brown leather mats, and running through calisthenics of various kinds.
Sevika scanned the dimly lit basement for the tall chirean and her dense head of freeforms, finally spotting her re-wrapping her hands by a section of mats near the back. Tipping the janitor a silver cog, she advanced on the group, drawing more than a few eyes. Bruise, who was seated and speaking with another fighter, a short woman with a worn face and slight build, slowly stopped talking and turned to face the underboss. Surprise crossed her features briefly before irritation and, what Sevika surmised from the flattening of her ears, fear.
Curiously, it didn't seem to be fear of her.
"You got a minute?" She didn't miss the pinched glare of nearly every fighter surrounding her, all three of them, immediately fixed Bruise with. Slowly, and somewhat guiltily, the chirean rose to her feet. Bruise's pink nostrils flared at that and cut back to the other fighters around her, namely the short woman.
"See you guys in a sec."
Judging from the disbelieving look on one of the fighters' faces, that might've been the wrong answer. Overall, a new factor for Sevika to contend with. Bruise trudged back out of the double doors, jerking her head for Sevika to follow. The underboss silently followed, eyes burning a hole in the back of the chirean's head as the two of them left the basement entirely. Bruise kept walking until they reached the Pit itself. Sevika followed her to the top of the stands when they finally whirled on her.
"What the fuck, man?" they whispered harshly.
"Bad time?" the underboss remarked flatly.
"You- oh my gods, I can't right now. Who the fuck even told you to come here?"
"We're negotiating. Got a new offer. Hence." She raised the pail and shook it a little for effect. The sheer ire of those fighters she'd found Bruise with replayed in her mind. "Who're those guys? You close?"
Bruise laughed ruefully, pushing their freeforms back from their forehead with both hands in aggravation. "Sum'n like that. That ain't your business either way."
"You're scared of them. Why?"
"Sc- don't piss me off right now, ain't nobody scared." The sentence shook with irritation, a hissed affect tacking onto the words.
"And the sky ain't full of Grey. Why? Fighter like you got no business shrinkin' their shoulders like that."
"It's just-" Bruise noticeably struggled for the words. "It's just some guys. Unsigned. Known 'em forever. And they ain't the biggest fans of chembaron hounds so thanks for blowin' your whole damn cover."
"And you?"
"I ain't either, don't get me wrong."
Sevika snorted, easing into a seat next to them. "Came to see me last time."
Bruise drew up short at that, before groaning and pushing the heels of their palms into their eyes. "For Janna's sake. Why the hell you here, man?"
"Like I said: Negotiations. Ain't long before the other chembarons catch on."
Bruise opened their mouth just as Sevika passed them the pail. The chirean glanced down at it, then back to Sevika. Curious, they grabbed it and sat on one of the stadium's benches. Sliding it open, two mangoes, a glass bottle with red liquid that smelled of tart fruit, and a bottle of medical-grade painkillers greeted them. Further back, a flask of the strongest alcohol they'd ever smelt. "Who this for?"
"Our new champion."
Bruise eyed the red-painted pail warily. Shiny and clean, the thing looked like some homemaker had cobbled together a lunch for a lover at work. Sevika swallowed down her own envy.
"Who made this?"
"Need to know basis. That's just part of what's waiting for you, signing with us."
The claws that picked through the pail paused. The pitfighter scoffed, the laugh thick with ire. "Unbelievable. You thought a housewife's lunch was gon' put me on y'all's leash?"
The underboss's eye twitched yet again. She'd been through tough negotiations before. Usually, her own words and ability to throw her weight around when required were enough. Something about this woman, though, made the process infinitely harder. For one, they were just as strong and just as vicious. They'd also already gotten under her skin in a way very few people managed to. This was a woman used to being chased for one reason or another. And Sevika was gonna need to outpace them for this to go well.
"I know," she started slowly, crossing her arms underneath her cloak. "You been without care too long. I also know you've been starved of the opportunity to do more. And I know who's keepin' you from bein' fed."
Bruise side-eyed her at that, ripped ear slowly lifting.
"But you don't get one without the other. You wanna do this as long as you want, when you want, and how you want? You need that support."
"From who? You tellin' me Silco's got a mini army of mobwives with a soup kitchen and massage parlor? Nah, nah, you ain't make this. And the Eyes didn't either."
"Bruise. More waiting for you in a deal with us than there is stickin' it out on principle. The food, the supplies. The fights you deserve."
At that last addition, Bruise's shoulders fell, and they looked genuinely surprised. Sevika felt a flicker of hope. Maybe she'd finally gotten through.
"What fights?" she asked tentatively, her raspy voice subtly softening.
"A promotion match. Your first fight under us."
"Don't fuck with me right now," Bruise chuckled ruefully. "I'on' hate you like that. Don't gimme a reason to start."
"Well, that's good news," Sevika sighed, leaning back in her chair. "But you do what you do now. Fight a few of the chembarons' pets now and then, and win. S'all we ask."
"And say the suits offer you sum'n'? Or y'all got debts to pay? Tell me, what's stoppin' y'all from settin' me up down there?"
Sevika's brows furrowed in confusion. She'd heard of the practice before, but what good did signing and caring for a fighter do a mob if they sold them out? The profit couldn't possibly be that high. Not for the utter betrayal of loyalty that resulted.
"Don't act like you don't know. Your lil' friends at that table in that lil' greenhouse? Sacrifice fighters to each other all the time. The second they can make more money from each other, gettin' us killed down here? They do it. I'm s'posed to believe y'all different?"
"Whatever the other chembarons get up to, the Eyes have always prized loyalty."
"To who? Silco's old ass?"
"To Zaun. And each other. One thing I can promise? We'd never sell you out." Bruise's nose rankled at the mention of "Zaun", though Sevika ignored it. That goal of hers, at least, had remained unshakable. Since she was young, and until now. The undercity could well and truly become its own people, again. And if she backed the right horse, she'd make that a reality. Now was just another step in that plan. Just one more hurdle. It was a pipe dream to most others. And Sevika hoped she hadn't lost the fighter by mentioning it. The assurance of loyalty might offset that miscalculation. "What do you say?"
"Y'all prize loyalty?" Bruise said after a long while, slowly rising from the stadium seat. "I do too. Those guys who gave you the stink eye down there? Been through too much with 'em to pull sum'n like this. I owe 'em."
The pitfighter eyed her warily, flickering down to the pail and back to Sevika's firm grey eyes. The underboss could see something else warring in those eyes, lifetimes she wasn't around for. And finally, the fear from the beginning returned.
"Gimme a day."
Sevika sighed. This was the most productive answer she'd received so far. She could work with this.
"You know where to find me."
For all that fighting independently earned Bruise, it had stolen just as much. Everything she'd gained turned to grains of sand falling in the hourglass that was her time here. And the honor of holding out against the petty, self-serving parasites who dared call themselves patrons had taken its toll. What was this all for anymore? What was honor worth when it ruined her chances at the two things she wanted more than anything? Vengeance and a fucking legacy?
For the first time, Bruise was well and truly tempted. A vow taken nearly a decade before couldn't mean more than her life and her world back in her hands. Could it?
With the pail in hand, feeling heavier than it was, Bruise made her way back down to the basement. The last time one of them had done that, nothing had been the same since. Long after the last few stragglers went home, Frankie, Tito, and Cain had hung back, expecting an answer from her over the underboss's sudden appearance at the Pit.
Glumly, Bruise approached them again, remaining standing while the three packed up. She avoided the six eyes on hers, looking past them to the hanging gym clock. She owed them an explanation, and it was clear she couldn't proceed without providing one. Still, the words were caught in her throat, choked out by nearly nine years of rot.
"What the hell, Bruise?" sighed Cain first, the spined fins of her ears bristled and sharp. Bruise's ears flicked from where they were downturned. "You'd better start talkin'. Why's there a fuckin' Eye in the gym, and why's she lookin' for you?"
"Cain, relax," Tito chastised. He looked at Bruise expectantly, betrayal but not surprise written all over his features. "Sh-sure the⌠the kids an- got an answer for this."
Bruise's eyes finally roamed over the group before settling on Frankie's. She glared at Bruise with eyes both tired and furious.
"So," she spat. "What she offer you?"
"E-easy, Fffrankâ"
"Shut the fuck up, Tito. Well, Bruise? Go on. The fuck that bitch with the boots offer you to finally fall in line?"
"That ain't fair, Frankie," Bruise tried to summon some calm. Nine years of shared suffering, and at the drop of a hat, it didn't matter anymore. "You know that. I ain't gave y'all a reason to think I'd sign this whole time y'all known me."
"No, asshole, you don't get to pull that when a damn chembaron's lackey shows up in here like she owns the damn place, askin' to talk. So spit it out. What she offer you?"
Every eye burned a hole through Bruise, and the wave of shame she felt began its familiar alchemy into irritation. The core of truth to what Frankie had so venomously laid out only made it worse, and she bit down on a growl.
"You wanna know what she offered me? A fuckin' title shot."
The other two glanced at each other, shock and concern crossing their features, but Frankie's face only hardened, unruly, thrice-split brows knitting themselves together in the center of her forehead.
"Oh, I'm sure that offer got you wet."
Bruise snarled. "Go to hell, Frank. Same for you two. I been loyal for how many gods damn years? Y'all don't get to act like it never mattered."
"Oh, get a load of this guy, " laughed Cain, rising to her feet. "Countin' the days till you could give us all the slip? Fuck principles, 'cause you done your time, huh?"
"No, dumbass, I refused to tow their line and look where this shit got me: fightin' nobodies, playin' a heel. And this whole time, I had to hear from all of y'all about how it was the least I could do. How, because they fucked up, because they got set up, I owed y'all that much."
"Oh, come off it," snorted Frankie. "You'll never stop owin' us, and you don't get to be in your feelin's that we're still suffering because of you two geniuses' stupid deal. You don't get to act like that's what this is about. You already been through every league. You got your dumbass medals. What the fuck more could you want?"
"More than this! More than beatin' people I know I'm- know I'm better than."
"Is all th- this all abâŚout Fangs?" Tito suddenly piped up. Bruise's blood ran cold. "Kid, sh'been almos' ten yyyears. You have let to- to let it-"
"Don't finish that sentence," she growled, voice sparking and snapping in her throat. "I ain't nev-ever lettin' that ssshit go, you bet' not open yo' mouth on that bullssshit again."
She scrubbed a hand down her face and tried to collect herself. "Fuck I'm⌠I'm tired, man. These people got me plarin' for a pay- playin' for a participation trophy 'cause they know what I want, what I deserve, more than- more than anything is a shot at the top. Been like this for fffour years. I can't play these games wit 'em no more."
"Ego." Frankie laughed incredulously. "Amazing. You're just like them. Chasin' what you're owed, you don't care if it fucks the rest of us over. Who was here day one? Who was here when Vennor bit the dust? Who was here when you ain't had two cogs to rub together to buy shitty handwraps, huh?"
Bruise, for all her anger, for all her pride, for all the guilt and the years of walking on eggshells, still had enough shame. Shame that weighed down her ears, and dropped her gaze to the floor even as her nostrils flared in defiance. Even now, she couldn't help but feel like she was seventeen again, learning how to wrap her hands and keep her chin tucked. Learning from them. Big and grown as she was, she couldn't look any of them in the eye now. But Frankie wasn't having it, and she shoved at Bruise's broad chest.
"Don't. Don't you do that. You look at me. Those people don't give not one fuck, not two, about your ass, now you wanna come down here like you're hot shit? It's fuck us, you got yours, right? For what? The same people who hunted you down for years? You really wanna make the same mistake Bash did?"
Bruise saw red. "Bitch say that shit again, I dare you."
"Say what, you damn brat? That you're fuckin' selfish just like that pompous princess? Bring it on, I'll wipe the floor with you."
"Frank. Bruise," Tito warned again, finally standing and putting his bulk between the two irate fighters. "This won't fix a thing. Bruise? Think about this."
But Bruise wasn't having it. Couldn't have the death of the one who'd saved her before dooming everyone else, thrown around like she didn't suffer the most for it. The bitter chuckle that left her throat while her hands balled into fists resonated with a snarl.
"Selfish? Please, I ain't done shit but bend over backwards for y'all. Wasted summa my best years on a dumbass oath. Let y'all son me even when we all knew I been outgrew y'all. Nah, all that shit's over now. I ain't gon let y'all hold their mistake over my head just 'cause none of y'all got a snowball's chance in hell at bein' half the champ they were."
The whole room fell silent. Everyone's face, even Tito's, fell, and Bruise instantly knew it. This was over. She'd crossed a line, finally letting the bitterness of every hollow victory since that night corrode every fragile bond that remained between them all. There was no walking it back. And maybe the worst part, she didn't feel the urge to. She grabbed her own gym bag and turned her back on the group. Despite her resolve, she knew she didn't deserve to look any of them in the eyes now. Not anymore.
"I wasn't askin' for y'all's blessin-in'," Bruise gritted out. "Imma do muh-me. I can't go- can't go out sad. Nnnot- shit- not when I know I got a good ass run in me. I'm done sayin' sorry. Done bein' humble."
"Bruise," Frankie warned. "You walk out those doors, I swear to shit you'll hear from none of us ever again. And when the chembarons finally fuckin' kill you, I promise we won't so much as toss your body in the godsdamned Pilt river."
The pit in Bruise's stomach had migrated to her throat as she nodded. She fought against the blur in her vision and kept her eyes on the door, finally putting one foot in front of the other, until her palm pressed against the cool of the rusted iron, and the chill of the hallway settled on her fur.
Then she pushed it open and let it slam behind her. Leaving nine years of pain behind her to chase the bitch with the boots.
Corin had passed along the message in the small hours of the morning. When the Undercity's smog was still thick and tinged with the neon lights of stubborn nightlife, it had been insanely early, and the message even more cryptic.
"Meet at the alleys near the lifts ain't exactly a location," Sevika sighed. The sleep hadn't quite left her eyes, but the journey over in the cold early hours had shaken her awake enough. She frowned at her appointment, deep inside the already narrow dead end, where she leaned against the brick of the tall buildings, thick, warm sweats obscuring most of her. "Ain't that easy to carry off. Try it at your own risk."
"Relax," Bruise laughed, casting her eyes up to the green-tinged sky above them both. "Not stupid enough to jump you. Just don't gimme a reason."
The underboss chuckled, blaming her temperance on the sleep that lingered in her bones. She cast a look about the alley. Nothing was remarkable about it, save for the large tunnel with the heavy grate over it at the far end. Why here? "Depends. Called me here to gimme good news?"
"Depends."
"Hope you thought it over. Offer won't be around forever. You're smart enough to know that." Sevika wasn't holding her breath, but something had to give this time. One of Volkage and another of Finn's lackeys were already catching on. She couldn't put a target on Bruise's back any longer. She had to get through to her, and she had to know what the stubborn woman was holding out for. "What you got to lose from this? Really?"
"If I'm wrong about you? Everything."
Sevika didn't let the bewilderment in her mind surface at that. But she did shift her posture. And though it might've been stupid, she advanced into the alley, boots kicking through the trash and scrap to rest on the opposite wall. It was barely two steps across from the other side, and her own steel-toed boots narrowly avoided brushing the suede work boots across from them. She dug in her pouch for her lighter and two cigars and offered one to the pit fighter. Bruise side-eyed her, but took it carefully between her claws.
Sevika smiled, just a faint upturn of her lips, and produced her lighter. Bruise leaned in slightly as the flame flickered to life and caught the end of her cigar. The underboss gazed at the flame's glow reflected through the Pitfighter's eyes. The acrid smell of burned leaves and the vice wrapped within filled Sevika's nostrils. Once Bruise leaned away, Sevika lit her own and took a drag, her shoulders falling a little. The two stood in silence as smoke filled the alley.
"So," Sevika broke first. She crossed her arms underneath her cloak, head tilted to the side in invitation. She'd finally met with a Bruise that felt willing to spill something other than blood for once. She couldn't squander this. Sevika gestured at the chirean with her right hand. "You been wrong before?"
"Not jus' me," Bruise sighed. She sucked in a puff and blew out a cloud, eyes cast towards the ground. "And I lost sumn' 'cause of it. Someone. My world, for real. They got signed. I went along, 'cause we was both scared and allat. They sold 'em out. Killed 'em dead in that hole wit everybody watchin'. After promisin' them the fuckin' moon, too. Nothin's been the same since."
She shoved off the wall, her brown eyes firm and unflinching, and took the cigar from between her plump lips. The movement brought her that much closer to Sevika, whose eyes stung from the added smoke, leaving the other woman's mouth. Arms crossed and that medal on her chest, puffed out proud. Despite the tragedy, Bruise didn't look sorry for herself. Not one bit. Sevika regarded the deadpan leveled at her with interest.
"I clawed my way up here eighteen years ago. No funny shit, came up out that hole right there," Bruise paused to point at the grated tunnel. Sevika's head turned briefly, eyes widening just a fraction. "Told myself I'd be at the top, and I meant it. I did it once. For me. And for them. I'll be damned if I let the other chembarons tell me I can't do it again just 'cause I'on' do it for they benefit. Come too far just to be shoved in silver for the rest of my life."
She stepped closer, almost invading the underboss's space. And when she spoke, her words rang clear with conviction.
"I wanna believe you different. You know what I'm owed and you wanna help me get it. If I gotta knock a few heads in for the Eyes, fine. But I swear to Janna, try and fix a match to save y'all's asses? Better pray I die right there. Because the second I leave that hole, Imma kill y'all. Startin' with you."
Sevika held back a snort. She'd seen the woman in action, but she'd survived worse. Yet? So had Bruise, a woman she was beginning to grow a begrudging respect for. She demanded her place in the world, and from what Sevika had seen, she was qualified to talk the shit she did. She spoke about her work with pride and vitriol for what the Pits had become. From her, Sevika had grown a weird respect for the Pits, no small indignation taking root in her the more she learned about its current state of affairs. Fixing the crown jewel of undercity negotiations wasn't a priority, but she could work at it. Now that she finally had a champion.
Well, almost had a champion. She realized Bruise was staring her down, waiting for an answer. "I swear on it. The Eyes want one thing from you. To win. Be mighty stupid to fuck with that. So, we got a deal?"
She meant it because Sevika was many things. But she had never been a liar. And she had never been disloyal. She stuck her warm hand out to secure the first part of the agreement. The latter would be done once Bruise put pen to paper in front of the other chembarons. The chirean glanced down at her hand, eyes hard and full of scrutiny. But finally, after an eternity, Bruise clasped her hand tight and shook once.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Iâm not sure if Iâm requesting this in the right place so sorry if not! I was wondering if you write a princess Au with Mel? Like the reader is the stories villainesses and Mel is the adored princess, but they have a soft spot for each other! I prefer sfw but I dont mind some nsfw! So itâs Whatever you wanna do !!
Thank you either way <33
a/n: Hiii sombraswifee thank you so much! Sorry this took so long, but I really hope you love this. I found myself loving Princess Mel so much, I may have to revisit her. Thank you for the request đĽ°đ¤
From Sunlight to Moonshine
Mel has been waiting for this moment her entire life. Since infancy, sheâs been trained in the ways of royalty, in the ways of caring for her kingdom.Â
The Medarda Kingdom is a notorious matriarchy; each Queen has a legacy all her own. And today, Mel will make her way and carve her name into the throne her mother sat on for all her life.
The regal woman stands before her now, dripping in gold and diamondsâwrapped in a deep red gown. For the first time in years, her eyes are soft as she looks upon her daughter.Â
âYou look beautiful, Mel.â She praises with great warmth, reaching out to touch Melâs face as she admired the beauty of her only daughter.Â
Kino was adored for her party-boy ways and wise control of the merchant circles. But Mel was the kingdomâs darling. The apple of their eye. So much so that her birthday is a kingdom-wide celebration, gold and white banners with the Medarda emblem fly around the major cities and even the small hovels as villagers sing praises to their now future queen.Â
She has to look the part, so Queen Ambessa commissioned a stunning white gown that accentuated her traditional tattoos.
It is layers of the finest fabric possible, with a crystal-embedded bodice and long sleeves that have been cut out to show off her arms. The coronation gown is equal parts flattering and ethereal, the perfect combination for Mel. Her locs are pulled into an intricate rose updo, and dewy gold makeup graces her pretty features. Ambessa hums with pride.Â
âYou are perfect. Nothing will ruin this day. Nothing.â Ambessa promises. But little does she knowâŚ.not all is as it seems.Â
Before leaving her chambers for the last time as the Princess of the Medarda Kingdom, the woman glances back at the balcony. A barely perceptible shadow passes over it, alongside a glitter of pure magic that is oh so familiar. Mel's heart beats faster, but she doesnât say a word.Â
Today, the villagers have somehow managed to top their devotion. The banners fly high, gold beads are strewn in the air, glittering under the sunlight as Mel graces them with her presence. She waves to as many people as she can, reaching down to shake the hands of the little children who have gathered to witness this monumental day.Â
Ambessa walks behind Mel, hands clasped behind her back as she nods to her subjects. Kino and Melâs father, King Azizi, brings up the rear, waving with elegance as the family proceeds to the throne. A servant awaits with the legendary Medarda Sword, meant to bless the new leader. Melâs crownâspecifically commissioned for her when she came of age almost 3 years agoâsits on a cushion beside it. Guards encircle the royals, all looking on with their own brand of pride.Â
But none of them are ready for the burst of magic at the front gates.
You stomp inside, wearing a dress as dark as night, accented with amethyst that matches your magic-tinted eyes. You glare at the happy display and, with a single twist of your hand, send the guards flying with your magic. They cry out in fear and surprise, sliding across the floor far enough away not to be of use.Â
âHello, princess.â You spit as you sashay across the floor, towards the beacon of this cursed kingdom. âSorry, Iâm late.âÂ
She whispers your name and steps forward. âWhat are you doing here?!âÂ
âAm I not permitted to witness this grandiose occasion? Iâm a citizen of this kingdom as well, you know, despite your attempts to drive me out. I want to see the new queen be crowned. Carry on.â You say with a mischievous grin, fluttering your hand again and sending the beloved relic of a sword into a nearby pillar. Inches away from Queen Ambessa's head.
The queen snarls and slips a weapon out of her gown. She is a formidable warrior, immune to your magicâas youâve become painfully aware through the years. But she is not immune to her daughterâs magic.
In the blink of an eye, Mel handles the room for you. Thereâs a flash of gold light, and the room ceases to move. Everyone, her family included, is frozen in their place. But only for a few moments.Â
âNice trick, princess. I taught you that the first week I trained you, didnât I? When you were still learning to control all that power of yours.â You reminisce, moving forward to stand in front of her.
Mel shivers under the intensity of your gaze, dropping her formerly lifted hand. It twitches as she holds back just barely from reaching for you.Â
âYou cannot be here. IâŚas much as I want you here, youâve made your choice. I have a responsibility to my kingdom.â Mel whispers, her voice weak.Â
âYou have a responsibility to me!â You spit, half hurt, half enraged. Tears bud in both your eyes. âYou made me love you. Stole my heart right from under meâŚI cannot stand being away from you, Mel.â You confess in a whisper, reaching for her gently, to prove youâre not out to hurt her.Â
Your hand comes to rest at her slip waist, pulling her closer. When your hips are flush togetherâas much as they can be with the heft of your gownsâMel gasps.Â
âPlease...I have to do this. I have to fulfill my purpose.â She tries.
âYou have no duty to this kingdom. The only duty you have is to yourself, Mel. Youâre not some prize to be won. No paragon of goodness. Youâre a woman. A flesh and blood human being, with needs.â You remind her, reaching up her bodiceâand enjoying the way she shiversâto caress her heaving cleavage briefly before detouring up to her pretty face.
She melts into your touch.Â
The kiss comes naturally, heated and hungry as you get a taste of this precious princess you love so much.
When she came to youâan infamous fugitive mage of her kingdom, hellbent on destruction and chaos magic according to her parentsâ months ago in the height of her uncontrolled power, you fell instantly. And by the way she clings to you, sheâs fallen just as hard.Â
But today is coronation day. The day Mel pledges herself to this kingdom, to the line of men waiting to take her hand in marriage and secure an alliance. To the peasants who worship and idolize her. And most importantly...not to you.Â
With one last desperate kiss, you try your best to memorize this moment. For it will most likely be your last with her. When you pull away, Mel lets out a cry of defeat. Tears fall down her cheeks.Â
âI love youâŚâ She laments, broken in a way that bruises your heart.
âI love you too, Mel. Goodbye, my darling light.â You whisper, giving her a kiss on the forehead before disappearing in a cloud of dark magic. Your magical signature remains in the room throughout the entire coronationâ the perfume of lilac and blackberriesâ, and it haunts Mel as she leans down to accept her crown.
Her mother's eyes watch keenly, aware of the deceit but unsure just what transpired. But Mel cannot care less today. For she is Queen. She'd never questioned her future until you burst into the coronation room.
As beloved as Mel is by her loyal subjectsâŚthe one she wants the most can no longer be hers.Â
︾âżŕ¨âĄŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżŕ¨âĄŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżŕ¨âĄŕ§âżď¸ľâżď¸ľâżŕ¨âĄŕ§âżď¸ľâż
Minors and Men DNI (18+)
Ë ŕźâĄ â・ËDbf! Trucker Sevika, who has been working for the same company for ten years, met your dad at a rest stop about five years ago. He asked her if she had a lighter for his cigarette (which of course she did), and the two became fast friends after that.Â
Ë ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who found out they lived in the same town after they ran into each other at the local grocery store, and your dad invited her over for drinks frequently. He would mention his twenty-five year old daughter frequently, but Sevika figured you were the type to stop by for holidays then disappear again.Â
Ë ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who was surprised to see you opening the door to your father's house one day, tilting your head in confusion, partly because she was surprised to see a younger girl instead of your greying father but more surprised that you were really, really pretty.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who had to clear her throat as you bent over, opening the fridge to offer her a beer because your shorts left very little to the imagination.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who listened to you explain your father ran to the store but should be back soon, so why not keep you company in the meantime?Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who could not keep her eyes from following the condensation droplet from your beer trail down your throat, disappearing into your cleavage. You were saying something about how you were staying over the summer to keep an eye on your dad.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who had only noticed you went silent when she dragged her eyes up and saw a pleased smirk sitting on your face, asking if she saw something more interesting she would like to talk about.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who was moments away from saying something highly inappropriate, until she heard the front door swing open.
ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who listened to your dad introduce you as his pride and joy as you played along innocently, formally introducing yourself.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who noticed your hand on her defined bicep, lingering a fraction of a second too long when she eventually left that night.
âIs it okay if I have your number? Just in case you need to call me if my dad runs into trouble on the roads.âÂ
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika, who knew she was in deep shit after that day.
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who cursed at whatever higher power was up there after dreaming of your perfectly manicured nails leaving scratch marks on her lower back as she tried to hold you impossibly close while grinding her cunt against your puffy little clit.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who hoped that you would not be home when she stopped over for dinner one Sunday, and yet there you were across the dinner table from her, batting your pretty eyelashes at her.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who thought you may have invented a new form of torture when you sweetly askedÂ
âDaddy, can you pass me the salt, please?â and was sorely disappointed you were not talking to her.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who did not expect to see you at a local gas station before she headed out of town on another job.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika, who watched you climb into her big rig after you asked her for a tour in shorts she was surprised were not considered public indecency.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who could no longer hold back when you laid on her cot in the back of her truck, propping yourself up with your forearms.Â
âSo, can we stop playing this cat and mouse game now, or do I have to ask you more plainly to fuck me?â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who had never heard such pretty moans in her entire life as your thighs tightened around her head as her tongue lapped up every drop of cum leaking out of you.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who conveniently could not find the panties you were wearing by the time you wobbled out of her big rig saying.Â
âText me next time you are in town k?âÂ
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who hung up your red lace thong right above her cot, glancing at it every once in a while in her review mirror. Mouth salivating from the memory.
ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika, who knew she had to put you in your place when her phone lit up one day mid-drive with a photo of delicate pink lace doing a terrible job of covering your perky nipples
âMaybe I should wear this set next time.â Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who showed up to your fatherâs house unannounced under the guise of having a few beers.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who easily outdrank your father as he happily passed out in his recliner, while you floated down the stairs, taking in the sight, and motioning her to follow you.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika, who knew your father would kill her if you both got caught like this.
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who shoved you against you against your vanity hand tangled in your hair as she made you watch as she left marks down the side of your throat.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who lost all patience when she saw your phone light up with her missed text asking where you were. Her pupils dialating when she saw her contact was saved under âDaddyâÂ
ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who had to made it obvious she had a thing for your soaked panties as she shoved the lace into your mouth so you kept your voice down. Your tongue salivating around the fabric.
âBe a good girl and stay nice and quiet while I make you feel good,â she would whisper in your ear, three knuckles buried so deep in your cunt your eyes rolled back.
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who dragged her soaked fingers up your body, leaving the shiny sticky substance behind on your tummy, before pushing them past your swollen lips.Â
âLook daddy in the eyes while you taste yourself, yeah?â She would taunt as your eyes filled with tears as you happily gagged around her fingers she pushed farther and farther down your throat.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who started to spoil you rotten, getting you small gifts she thought you would like on trips. Paired of course, with various lingerie sets she accumulated.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who texted you her address and where she keeps the spare key to her house, when she was returning from a long haul one day.
â10:15pm. My room. Wear that lavender set that barely holds your tits in.âÂ
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who could barely focus on you, asking her if she had a good trip when you looked like that on her bed.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who remembered all the dirty photos you would send her while on the road as she gripped your hair, pushing her strap further down your throat to where your nose brushed against her thick bush.Â
âBrats don't get to be fucked until they get my cock nice and sloppy.âÂ
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who sucked in a breath letting you up for air watching that one string of saliva drip from the tip of the silicone as you coughed, catching your breath.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who had you straddling her lap as she drove up into you over and over, filling the room with the sound of your ass rippling against her thighs.
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who wished she had recorded this as she stood up hooking an arm around your waist, bouncing you up and down on her waist, watching the dark blue dildo disappear into your cunt.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who had your head tipping back, screaming her name as you came for what had to be the tenth time that evening.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who looked at the clock at around 3am as both of you lay on the mattress trying to catch your breath.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who climbed on top of your tired frame, took out her phone and told you to look up at her with that exhausted fucked out look in your eyes.Â
  ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika who remembered exactly how she palmed your tits after as she looked at the printed polaroid of you ruined for her on her truck's dash next time she left town.Â
 ŕźâĄ âď˝ĄË Dbf! Trucker Sevika, whose eyes darkened when she saw a text from you.Â
âWhen are you going to bring me along with you so you can fuck me in every state?â
Description: While you recover from the bomb that nearly stole your life, tensions grow higher. An odd invitation from a young Kiramman changes the game, as a genuine connection forges the way for breakthroughs that leave everyone stunned.
Tags: Medarda!Reader, Medarda Family Drama, character study, family drama, political intrigue, Caitlyn needs grief counseling, Mel needs a drink, Jayce needs therapy, Everyone needs therapy
Word count: 5.5k
emerging plans
The next morning is rife with tension. Mel and Ambessa circle each other like uncertain fawns, clumsily offering coffee or quiet words of reassurance as they wait for you to wake.
There is still so much left unsaid, but it is better not to unpack such unpleasantries while uncertainty remains in the air. Conveniently, they can instead focus all attention on you to avoid the lingering issues between them.Â
âThank youâŚfor finding a way to help with her pain,â Ambessa confesses, her voice just edging on vulnerable. She hesitates before continuing. âBut I am not blind. I can see the ways youâre overextending yourself. The exhaustion is plain as day on your face, Mel.â She expresses true concern dripping from her words.Â
It takes Mel back. A part of her struggles with the conflict of how happy those words make herâthe acknowledgement, the validation, the concern sheâd dreamed ofâand the reality of what sheâd be doing from this point forward. The direct stance of opposition sheâll be taking against her only remaining family.
Mel is no fortune teller, but she can foresee the path toward conflict in this city as clear as day. A path that both her mother and younger sister will happily fight for.Â
Once you wake, sheâll be forced to flee to the council chambers again. As Elora delivered breakfast, she delivered word of yet another emergency meeting. She knows there is no way Ambessa would allow herself not to be in the room, no matter the topic of conversation. Not after the near-death of her remaining children.Â
Before Mel can reply, you appear in the kitchen, bleary-eyed but less tense, thankfully.Â
Mel is quick to offer coffee and a buffet of healthy breakfast supplied by Elora only moments ago. Pastries, perfectly cooked proteins, and freshly pressed juices to aid in recovery. There is a busy day ahead. Everyone would need nutrition to forge ahead.Â
âI know youâre still getting your bearings. How are you feeling?â Mel questions softly.Â
âI feelâŚbetter. Iâm sorry for what you saw yesterday. Iâ
âThere is no need to apologize, child.â Ambessa interrupts gently. âWeâre just glad youâre feeling better. Ready to take on the day. Elora has informed Mel of a Council Meeting this morning, an emergency yet againâŚI would like us to attend. Eat your fill to give you extra strength.âÂ
Mel shoots her mother an angry look. âWhile I allowed Liya to tag along for the sake of keeping her close, as we all know, that did not end well. You both will be staying out of official council business until further notice. Do you understand?â Mel states, trying her hardest to be stern. But she knows it's a fruitless endeavor.Â
You are as stubborn as an ox, and Ambessa has not taken orders from anyone in most of her years on this earth. Mel is up against impossible odds.Â
But she will not let them walk all over her, not in her city.Â
âI will be going, with all due respect, Mel.â You say, attempting to remain diplomatic and restrained. âIf Jinx did this to me, I want to hear exactly whatâs being done to apprehend her and bring her to justice. And you know very well youâll need motherâs strategic skills to iron out the details ofâ
ââI do not need either of you interfering in business that does not concern you.â Mel snips, trying her hardest to keep her tone light but failing. You raise an eyebrow.Â
âFunny how that worksâŚThis began to involve me when I was blown into oblivion by a teenager with a weapon of mass destruction. A weapon none of your precious council were aware of until it was too late.â You snap back, voice rising as frustration mounts. You try to calm yourself, but youâve been holding onto this for weeks now. And there is no better time than the present to release your grievances.Â
âForgive me for starting the morning off combative, Mel, but this is officially my concern. And it will be, until sheâs brought to my feet in handcuffs. Iâm surprised youâre not up in arms at the mere thought of such a danger going unchecked so close to your new home.â You argue, before making a plate, taking the still steaming cup of coffee, and retreating to the guest room.
Getting ready does not take long, and to your surprise, Mel does not push back again. Even as your mother prepares herself and calls upon Rictus to escort you all to the carriage once again. You shut your eyes against the sight of it and force your breath to settle as you traverse the streets. Resentment builds in your chest. For this place, for the people who innocently wander the streets unaware. These people, Mel seems to care for more than you.Â
In the end, the meeting isnât anything out of the ordinary. Plans for investigations, for memorials dedicated to the fallenânothing you havenât suspected already.
And that is how most meetings go, for the next few days. Unproductive sessions of brooding, where the cityâs most powerful players sit on their hands as if they are powerless plebeians. Acting clueless, as if their incompetence isnât the reason for this predicament.Â
The fury and resentment within you grow brighter, and in the back of your mind, you know that once you can safely escape the supervision of your mother and sisterâthat girl would be yours. The weapon she crafted to kill your sister would be yours.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
When you return to the apartment, an unexpected invitation awaits.Â
House Kirammanâs sigil is embossed in gold at the bottom of a letter you never expected to see. It shines like a beacon of hope on the sunlit dining table. Ambessa has returned to her warship to see to her own interests, reluctantly. And Mel has retreated to her study to tend to council matters.Â
This is the first time since the attack youâre alone. Or at the very least, not surrounded by your family or a nurse of some kind. What a coincidence that your new friend would call on you at such a perfect time.Â
You read the inquiry over a few times before scoffing in disbelief. This is the last thing you expected to see, but it is a welcome surprise. A sign of your progress in the city. A way out of the cloying tension in this apartment.Â
An invitation to visit from Caitlyn Kiramman. A show of concern after your interaction at Cassandraâs funeralâŚshe wishes to see how you are doing. You ponder the correct response for a few moments, plopping down on Melâs chairâregretting it immediately when your back gives a twinge of pain.Â
Deepening this connection could do wonders for your credibility in this city. Not to mentionâŚdeep down, youâre lonelier than ever. Despite the constant attention of your sister and mother, both were becoming increasingly preoccupied with their affairs: Mel with keeping Ambessa from acquiring Hextech, and Ambessa with securing allyship in the vulnerable Salo.Â
Her meetings with the man were going to prove fruitful under the right circumstances, but it would take time. Time that took her away from you, in this increasingly foreign city.Â
As you recover, training is off limitsâand the undercity is under strict lock and key. Every day, your worry for Sevika grows, but you can do nothing about it. Nothing that wouldnât be on the radar of your sister within minutes. So, a distraction could not hurt.Â
Getting re-dressed in a more socially appropriate outfit takes longer than youâd like.Â
The Kiramman family was well-versed in arms manufacturing, and older generations of the family were briefly soldiers. Women just like you, who fought for their families, though the Kirammans were ranged soldiers in stark contrast to the Medarda legacy. They would appreciate the reminder of your military status, but also a show of vulnerability.Â
The set you choose is a mixture of a casual outfit and armored pieces. Dark pants and heavy boots led up to a high-neck, sleeveless tunic of mostly black, with hints of white and red.Â
The tunic is partially leather in the abdomen area, almost like a corset, molding to you in a way that would protect you if needed. The vambraces on your arms are more decorative than anything, devolving into drapery that adds some flair to the tunic. The pop of silver metal in them that matches the jewelry in your hair pulls the look together.
The look is elegant, regal, but simple. Exactly what you need.Â
With that reassurance fresh in your mind, you take in a deep breath and press forward. Back onto the streets of Piltover, without a single word to Mel.Â
When you arrive, to your surprise, Tobias Kiramman is not the one to greet you. An overwhelmed butler takes his place and guides you to the gardens to wait for the new lady of the house.Â
The Kiramman gardens are small compared to what you are used to, but you are grateful to be in nature nonetheless. The foliage of this place is foreign to you, but you so enjoy the sight of the new, blooming flowers.Â
You wait on an ornate golden bench, beneath a sprawling tree whose leaves fall around you in swirlsâa peaceful meeting place. The opening of the door startles you, heart racing as you try to remain calm. Looking at Caitlyn brings you back to the present. She looks better than you expected. Alarmingly thin, but the dark circles have lessened. With a clearing of her throat, she walks toward you and settles on the bench.Â
âThank you for coming.â She starts, her gaze faltering. She fiddles with her hands in a nervous gesture. âI know this was most likely an unexpected invitation. We barely know each other. But Iâ
The butlerâs return interrupts her; he comes out with a tray of tea and offers it up. You graciously take what smells to be a mix of chamomile, green, and rooibos tea.Â
âWhy did you accept my invitation?â Caitlyn asks suddenly, uncertainty and distrust lingering in her eyes. She keeps the tea close, but does not drink.Â
You chuckle and take a delicate sip of your tea, grace bleeding from your every movement. The taller woman is practically heaving with nerves and fearful anticipation.Â
On her own property, you look more composed than she does. âI wasâŚcurious. Your invitation came at the right time, and I decided to indulge. I think I am in a unique position to assist you through this troubling time. AndâŚyou could be a friend to me in this unfamiliar city, Miss Kiramman.â Your voice takes on a hint of vulnerability. Youâre not sure if it is fully pretend.
âYouâŚforgive me for being so forward, butâyou mentioned having lost a parent beforeâŚyour father, if Iâm remembering correctly.â She tries gently.Â
âYes, my fatherâAzizi Medarda. He was a brilliant man. Calm and collected at all times, unless our mother was in danger. He taught me the skill of observation and compromiseâŚhe died in front of my sister and me when I was 5. A carriage accident.â You explain, voice full of tears the longer you speak.Â
Youâve been without your father for longer than you were with himâand yet his absence still bore a hole in your heart.Â
âAnd quite recently, I lost my older brother as well. I still hear the funeral procession sometimes, the smell of the incenseâŚso yes, I am quite familiar with grief. Losing a parent is especially brutal. Iâm so sorry for your loss, Miss KirammanâŚthere is much on your shoulders.â You say, earnest in a way that is not common for you. You want to believe that there is a part of you playing pretend.Â
But in reality, this moment of understanding was genuine. Not every interaction you had in this city was a performance. You play your part well, but today you were justâŚLiya. Grieving younger sister and fatherless daughter who recognized the pain in Caitlynâs eyes.Â
âIâm so sorryâŚ.I cannot imagine how much pain you must feel. And seeing this funeral procession surely does not help. Thank you for supporting our family even if itâs brought you pain.â She gulps down the pleasantries for a moment, then confesses:
âThere is thisâŚhole that only grows bigger the longer sheâs gone. I swear I can hear her voice in the hallways of this estate. Itâs driving me mad. In all my memories, I cannot hold onto anything that would help me take the right next step. Thereâs so much at stake.â Caitlyn rambles, her voice growing weaker as she struggles to keep her composure. Tears fill her blue eyes.Â
You take a chance and reach out to grab her hand. âYouâre doing the best you can. I still had my mother when Father passed. And I was not in line to inherit her legacy. Youâre doing everything you can to maintain the honor of this House. Be content in the knowledge that she would be proud of that.âÂ
âButâŚam I? Doing everything I can. Jinx remains unapprehended, and my connection to her sister only clouds my judgment. But Iâm not strong enough to let her go. I canât. Even when itâs the reason I am where I am todayâŚ.even if they both are the reason my mother is dead.âÂ
âDonât blame yourself or your relationship for something that is so far beyond you. While I donât know exactly what happened that night, I do know that placing the blame on yourself isnât fair. She would have sent that bomb regardless. And if she hadnât done it, someone else would have. The cards were already drawn when Silco was allowed to live for as long as he did. The person responsible is the one who pulled that triggerâŚJinx.â You try, for a moment, slipping into strategy as the reminder of your true purpose returned.Â
As much as this heart-to-heart felt liberatingâgetting closer to Jinx, her weapon, and the Hextech that created it was still your goal.Â
Caitlyn remains silent for a moment, and you take the opportunity to share again.
 âI went to war with my grief in handâŚEvery battle I fight is a reminder of the moments I failed to take action. Though I was barely a child, I still vividly remember the hopelessness of the day my father died. And it is still fresh, for my dear brotherâs loss. They follow me everywhereâŚyou donât have to be like me, Caitlyn. You can snuff out the source of your grief. Do it, before it consumes you like itâs consumed me.â You regale, in your own way, trying to steer this woman off the path you knew was carved out for her.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
You sit in silence for a few moments before Caitlyn works up the courage to ask.Â
âDo you run your own battalion of some sort? You seem quite young to be trusted with such responsibility and risk. I donât know much of Noxian custom, but it seems irresponsible to have young leaders at such high risk at all times.â Caitlyn observes after a moment of comfortable silence. Her sudden change of subject earns a chuckle from you.Â
âYouâre right, you know nothing of Noxian custom. Nor do you have any insight into the Medarda way of life. The responsibilities that come with it. The danger. I am certain you have a great understanding of the position I am in, as the young daughter of a high-ranking Councilmember yourself. But the full scope of it is unknown to you. My mother led her first warband at 15. I held my first sword when I was 8. This is all I have ever known, and all I could ever want. And I am grateful.â You express, watching as her confusion grows.Â
âYou are grateful to be in a constant state of warfare?âÂ
âWe are not in a constant state of warfare. We are simplyâŚwar. When situations require me to handle them, I do so. When there is a threat to my familyâs interests, I will handle it no matter who is in my way. As simple as that.â You explain, that warm smile still on your face, disarming the poor girl before you.Â
The last thing you want is for this woman to think of you as some warmongering freak. Even if that was the truth of who you were, beneath the human skin suit you were forced to wear in public.Â
âI see.â She simply replies, thoughtful in a way that endears her to you. Caitlyn is a mystery to you. In some ways, sheâs an open book. She does not hide behind the tricks and games you rely on. She simply exists. It is an oddity you find charming. âWhat did you do in the Undercity? Vi told me you parted ways near The Last Drop. I hope you didnât wander inside.âÂ
âI may have.â You admit with a wry smile. âI enjoyed a nice tall drink and observed the local wildlife. The undercity is a curious place indeed, but I promise I didnât get lost. Nor did I cause any real trouble. How did you end up down there? You and Vi seemâŚclose. What kind of investigation are you leading that takes you such places?â You tease, tilting your head as you take the young woman in.
A playful smile crept onto your face as you nudge Caitlyn. The girl is so serious, but under your warm gaze, she softens just a touch. A smile twists her lips, exposing an adorable gap you hadnât noticed until now.Â
It immediately reminds you of Sevika.Â
Your heart stutters for a moment as you think of her again, the woman who practically turned you inside out in one night. You can still hear her voice, sultry and husky in the most compelling way.
âI have business there. That is all I am willing to share.â Caitlyn offers, a blush growing on her face. The first bit of levity in this entire interaction.Â
âOh, please, I can keep a secret. I donât intend on doing some sort of espionage, you know.â You joke with a giggle.Â
To your surprise, the interaction devolves from a grief-ridden conversation to girl talk. Itâs nice to see the ways Cailtyn speaks of Vi as if she hung the moon and stars with her bare handsâand to hear of the more positive memories of her mother.Â
You even share an anecdote of your fatherâs memoryâthe nights he taught you constellations, and the secret trips to the library when you were caught skipping lessons.Â
As you leave, you turn to her hesistantly. âYou would do well with my expertise at your side. If what you want is to apprehend and stop this Jinx, I can assist you. Just tell me the time and place.â You offer, before honoring her with a Noxian saluteâbringing your forearm to your chest and dipping your head in respectâbefore leaving for the afternoon.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
The weight of her well-intentioned decisions weighs heavily on Mel.Â
When she earned this spot on the council, she never imagined that such turmoil and complication would be her legacy. Her responsibility. Since the moment that the bomb hit the council chambers, there has not been a single moment of peace. And she imagines there will not be any peace for a long time.Â
Trying to keep this council from imploding seems near impossible. Debating the morality of enacting martial law while searching for the troubled terrorist Jinx feels like an impossible feat with her mother in the room.Â
Seeing her sidle up beside Salo, using him for sympathy now that her own daughter was mysteriously not presentâand she notes your absence with a hint of distress. She hopes youâre off visiting the mysterious âSâ character, and not making her life a living hell.Â
But alas, Melâs beginning to come to terms with the fact that her life is in shambles.Â
The door of the council chambers swings open, and in walks a determined Caitlyn Kiramman.Â
She stomps into the chamber, taking the place of her deceased mother with hands slammed onto the desecrated table. In the aftermath of so much loss, Mel feared Caitlyn would fall into obscurity. What she had not been expecting was this transformation.Â
Though the blue-haired young woman does not look healthy, she looks steady enough to lead the charge of her proposed next steps. There is a hardness in her gaze as she snaps at Salo, prompting a look of contemplation from Melâand impressed consideration from Ambessa.Â
The possible use of the Grey grates at Melâs morality, but she can sense the reins have been completely snatched from her in this moment. She is not unfamiliar with chemical warfare. Sheâs seen the ways Noxians have won the most impossible of battles; she knows her mother has employed the tactics. But she never imagined facing it in real life.Â
She tries her best to interject, tries to change the fate of the undercity, but itâs far too late. She sees that now. She can feel the trainwreck coming, no matter how she advocates against it.Â
A murmur of confusion runs through the room when Caitlyn motions to the door to introduce her additional âsolutionâ.
It takes everything in Mel to keep her jaw from dropping at the team that steps forward. Ambessaâs satisfied grin is nearly unstoppable. She holds her poker face just barely, but Mel can see the glint of pride in her eyes. It stings.Â
Sheâs surprised not to see Vi beside her paramour. The two seem attached at the hip, but once it processes that the soldiers before the council are enforcers, her absence makes sense.Â
The girl was from the Lanes; sheâd be well within her rights to avoid enforcers at all costs. The presence of a pair that Caitlyn appears to trust is a given. But what nearly sends her into a heart attack is you.
Standing amongst the group, in a modified dark tunic armor set with hints of Piltovan colors, meant to honor your Noxian roots while displaying clearly who you were working with in this endeavor.Â
At your hip, a pair of modified Drakehound blades sits. They shine blue and elongate with a vicious spark when each member of the strike team shows off the Hextech modifications to the Council.Â
âWerenât you among the greatly injured?â Shoola questions, eye narrowing. âTo join this strike team would require you at your physical best, wouldnât it be unwise toâ
ââI have won battles in much worse conditions, I assure you. I can do this job. Besides, I have no intention of fighting. I am here to assist Councilor Kiramman in apprehending the suspect, not assassinating her. Trust in my title, my experience, and my word, Councilor.â You assure, sincerity dripping from your every word.Â
Though many look uncertain of your inclusion, you both can feel the pride falling from Ambessa as she hides her satisfied smirk.Â
Though youâve not spoken of it, you know her next steps. You know your mother like the back of your handâshe can see the power vacuum coming a mile away, and she intends to act upon it. But the fact that youâve done so first, for she sees the way Caitlynâs eyes soften with respect as she looks upon youâit is a moment of true pride.Â
Mel is fuming. Sheâs just barely able to control her rage and frustration, but you see the layers of understanding.Â
âWeâre honored to have Colonel Medarda with us. Iâll be leading the strike team, alongside trusted members of the Enforcers, with crucial information from experienced fighter Vi. She knows the target better than anyone. I can assure you all, we will not fail in this mission. And we shall do it with as little impact on the undercity as possible.â Caitlyn professes, eyes roving over the strike team with pride.
As much as Mel can see that Caitlyn believes her own wordsâshe knows deep down that is not the case. Not with you at her heels, whispering in her ear. This will be a disaster.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Mel slams the apartment door behind her as you both return for the evening. The strike team begins their mission tomorrow, so for the night, you have plans to make the most of your eveningâŚif it is at all possible with the way Mel fumes before you.Â
âWhat the hell do you think youâre playing at?! How dare you?â Mel growls. You raise an eyebrow at her anger.Â
âFunny, you told me to make friends with the girl. I did. How was I supposed to know sheâd have intentions of creating this little strike team?â You try, words half true.Â
You truly hadnât expected to be included in this search, so personally. When you offered yourself to Caitlyn, you expected maybe a consultant position at most. Not acting as her right-hand man in this expedition. Being includedâyour presence directly requested, alongside an offer of the exact weapon you needed mostâeven in your injured state, was a surprise of massive proportions. Your heart flutters at the thought of using your new Hextech weapon.Â
When Caitlyn presented them to you, alongside the modified tunicâas she knew better than to expect you to wear a foreign nationâs uniformâyou were surprised. You still have no idea how Jayce knew of your weapons, but you are grateful nonetheless.Â
âYou knew. As a matter of fact, I bet you put her up to this. You told her to use the Grey as well, didnât you?â She accuses, taking you aback genuinely for a split second. You scoff and gently cross your arms over your chest in a defensive maneuver.Â
In truth, Caitlynâs suggestion of chemical warfare shocked you. Though youâve heard tales of Noxian generals using it, you never thought youâd find yourself in a position to witness it in person. It was a disconcerting tool you werenât sure was wholly necessary.Â
If you had your way, youâd extract Jinx yourself and end this before things got messy. But one step at a time. The insinuation that you desired this outcome was more hurtful than youâd ever admit aloud.Â
âDo you hear yourself, Mel? How is that even possible? How would I have known of it before she brought it to the table? Itâs a well-kept family secret, I couldnât have known. She didnât consult me beforehand. You think too highly of my skillset, Mel. And youâre so hellbent on assigning me blame, youâre pulling things out of thin air.â You snarl.Â
âWe both know itâs not outside the realm of possibility for you. I didnât know you were a fucking Colonel in the Noxian armyâgods, Liya, what did you have to do to earn that position? What horrible atrocities did you commit to earn that title? And youâre barely 21, howâ
Her tirade is cut off by the sudden timid knock at the front door. As always, something must interrupt.Â
The tension between sisters pauses when, reluctantly, Elora makes her way into the apartment.
âIâm sorry to intrude. I know you asked for privacy, but you also requested I have someone keep an eye on Councilor Talis. Thereâs an uncommon amount of energy coming from the AcademyâŚâ She explains, unsure of whether or not she should speak. But Mel straightens up immediately, and you hold back a scowl.Â
She hesitates as she moves toward the door.Â
âI have business to attend to. Iâll be back as soon as I can. Stay here, please. Weâre not done with our conversation.â She expresses, before following Elora out of the apartment. The pit in your stomach only grows, but you bite your tongue. No matter how much you want to spit your vitriol, now is not the time.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
When Mel enters the lab, the last thing she expects is the level of dread that sinks to the bottom of her stomach. Thereâs something in the air, something unsettling and heavy that makes her want to be sick. But the deeper she delves, the more concerned she feels.Â
Jayce is entitled to his grief. Hiding in this lab, away from the deaths of his loved ones, was something he should be allowed. As disappointed as everyone was in his absence at Cassandraâs funeral, Mel understood. Grief is a tricky thing; it creeps up on you in the worst of ways, at the worst times.Â
But whatever this isâŚitâs wrong.Â
She steps inside the lab warily, making eye contact with Jayce the moment she comes into his view.
His eyes are ringed with evidence of a sleepless night. He is slightly more gaunt, more worn. Then her eyes shift to the elephant in the middle of the room. The pulsing problem that is the cause of Melâs nausea, surely. Or is it the thought of that weapon on her sisterâs hipâgleaming with that blue light so characteristic of her loverâs lifeâs work? Those hours of carefree bedroom fantasy seem lifetimes away now.Â
Mel gasps when she sees him, her friend suspended in a warbling wall of arcane blasphemy. Viktor looks almost peaceful, if pallid.Â
âWhat have you done?â Mel questions, stepping forward to get a better look at him.Â
âI saved himâŚI had to try.â He says, eyes filling with tears as he looks upon his friend.Â
âThe hexcore, did youâ
ââyes, but thatâs not what youâre here to discuss, is it? The funeralâŚhow was it?â
âBeautiful. It would have been even better if youâd attended. Caitlyn and Tobias are obviously struggling. Iâm sure they would appreciate seeing you.â Mel tries, doing her best to bring him back to the compassionate and present man sheâd come to love.Â
The Jayce she held in her arms, the one who brought her flowers, who regaled her with stories of his good memories of the Kiramman estateâŚhe wouldnât have missed that funeral for the world.Â
Jayce sighs and runs his hand over his face. âI know, I know. I regret not being there, but I had to make sure Viktor was stable. Itâs so touch and goâŚat any moment he could flat line and all this work itâd beâŚbut Liya. She was there, I heard the search parties before I left. Is she..?â He canât even bring himself to say it.Â
Mel swallows down the tiniest surge of hurt. âSheâs better. Injured, but getting stronger every day. Something you should knowâŚsince you made that weapon for her.âÂ
âWhich one?â He blearily asks, his eyes going wide as his actions seem to register.Â
âThe Drakehound bladesâŚmy sister is now a part of Caitlynâs strike team against the undercity,â Mel states, holding back her frustration just barely as she notes the confusion in his eyes. He did a favor for an old friend in the midst of this experiment, went against his morals again to make these weapons. And yet he barely reacts.Â
Mel is frustrated beyond belief. But she couldnât sit with him all night. Not with so much at stake. âAs a matter of fact, I need to return to her side shortlyâŚI just wanted to warn you.â
âOf what?âÂ
âMy motherâŚI suspect sheâll use this as an opportunity to push for more Hextech weaponry, as was her goal all along. Weâve already discussed how imperative it is that she does not have it. Iâm worried now that Liya already has it. I know grief still clouds your mind, and you have every right to it. But pleaseââ
ââI canât involve myself anymoreâŚnot right now. I need to know heâll make it through this. Mel, you have to understandââ he tries to step forward, to grab her hand in reassurance as he refuses to support her. Mel is not angry, but still filled with great disappointment.Â
Sheâll have to fight this fight alone⌠even though this crusade was not hers alone. The road that led them here was not walked alone. The mistakes she made were compounded by the fervent curiosity of the men before her. Both of whom she could barely look at in this moment.Â
She steps away from him and straightens her back. She is Mel Medarda. As much as she might love this man, she does not need him to save this city. To protect it from her mother. Despite the threat of unrest in the Undercity, her biggest concern is her motherâs influence. Alone, she was a beast of a strategist, but with you by her sideâŚFear curdles in Melâs belly.Â
And as she walks away from Jayce, taking one last glance back at her lover and her friendâwhose pallid face brings a tear to her eyeâMel vows to keep them safe. In any way, she has to.Â
a/n: This chapter was so hard. I debated various versions of it, but this is what I finally settled on sharing. ISo nervous to release this bc it sets the tone for the rest of this arc and hits some controversial topics for season 2's plot.
In full transparency first: I didn't care about the Jayce/Viktor storyline. During my initial watch, I blacked out through most of their scenes, eagerly waiting for Ambessa to return to my screen, so the intricacies of their relationship are lost on me outside of the research I've done. But this is my interpretation of the story. Feel free to leave constructive ideas and feedback about them if you feel compelled to.
Also: Caitlyn's use of the Grey and the subsequent Vi enforcer arc was hard for me. In this story, Vi refuses to join the enforcer strike team for obvious reasons...but she'll attempt to make good on the wreckage Jinx has left behind in her own way. We'll see if Liya can adjust the grey usage just a bit to stop the unnecessary agitation of the undercity..but what will that change? If anything?...
Sorry it's been so long. I look forward to seeing what y'all have to say. I'm attempting to make the chapters easier to find, so bare with me if the look of this changes lmao I'll happily take asks about this story if anyone cares. I might end up yapping into the ether in a separate post just to sift through my feelings who knows. See you soon đ
a/n: Hi anon, thanks for the prompt! I've never written winged!reader before, but it was fun to imagine. Hope this fits what you were looking for âşď¸
winged!reader x mel
ŕź*ÂˇË You first meet through Lest for a one-off consultation. A series of bank robberies takes place in Piltover after the war, featuring a unique strategyâear-piercing songs that incapacitate the guards in seconds. Youâre the first person she thinks to call.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË You enter the council chambers reluctantly, having lived a quiet life in Piltover since being given sanctuary. Rocking the boat could be risky, but you owe Lest this favor.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË The minute she spots you, Melâs heart jumps. You look like an angel, though you hide your wings beneath a specially crafted cloak. Someone like you attracts the wrong attention when your wings are on display, but in this chamber, you are safe.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË Mel barely holds back a gasp when you sit, and release the cloak from your shouldersâyour white and gold wings shimmering in the light as they stretch out behind the chair, before folding tightly at your side with a nervous flutter. Â
ŕź*ÂˇË She holds her questions until after the meeting, where youâve secured proper defenses against the songs stealing from Piltover banks. You watch the usually graceful woman be stumped for the first time in her life. So you hang back and give her a chance to compose herself.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË âIâm sorry for staring.â She says sheepishly. Her first words directly to you. She shies from your amused gaze before continuing. âIâve just never seen someone like you before. Iâve seen a lot of things, but not an angel walking among us.â You chuckle. âCute. Very cute, Miss Medarda. But I am no angel. I can perform magic and miracles to rival them, but I am no saint.â You give her your name.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË Your relationship develops slowly, as youâre cautious of getting so close to a high-profile figure. But Mel is irresistible.
ŕź*ÂˇË She asks about your past, the life you led before landing in Piltover. She does not push when painful memories consume you.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË She encourages you to speak of your culture, the nearly extinct bird vastaya clan you were born from, and the life you fled from in Ionia. You share nostalgic stories about your homes and the people you lost there. Bonding over the constant homesickness.
ŕź*ÂˇË The first time you let your wings breathe around her, Mel is stunned to silence. On the couch of her lavish apartment, you trust her to witness you in your full form. She watches with keen interest as you unfurl them from the cloak and cast the thing aside.
ŕź*ÂˇË Your wings are large, majestic as they span the couch and beyond her. You stretch, a side effect of long-term confinement, causing the light to bounce off the gold tips in a wondrous display. Bird-like wings that twitch and shudder in reaction to your emotions as you read alongside her. She's mesmerized.
ŕź*¡ËAnd then you take it a step further. âYou can touch them. Just the top partsâŚ.for now. The underside is quite sensitive.â You confess with a blush. Her delicate hands are so gentle as she caresses your large wings, relishing the ripples of pleasure when she hits the right spots. Trailing her fingers down the hues of whites and gold that enchant her. âThank you, love, this is a privilege Iâll never take for granted,â Mel promises.
ŕź*ÂˇË Her apartment slowly but surely becomes a haven. Your feathers find their way into every nook and cranny of her home. Mel is secretly delighted.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË When you molt for the first time around Mel, she nearly has a conniption. The discomfort is maddening, but through every moment sheâs there to help you remove those old feathers, whilst secretly storing them for later.Â
ŕź*ÂˇË Mel ends up with a collection beneath her bed, alongside trinkets from her childhood sit a box of your finest feathers. You clown her for it when you finally move in, and in an effort to hide your own keepsakes, stumble across the horde.
ŕź*ÂˇË When you share a bed for the first time, a problem develops: no matter how tightly you pull your wings to your side, they end up splayed across the bed the moment you fall asleep. Pushing the covers, flopping over Mel, and causing a host of issues she laughs off.
ŕź*ÂˇË It's a miracle Mel has such a large space, as you encounter quite the challenge cohabitating.
ŕź*ÂˇË Your wings nearly knock her over. If you're unaware, walking through the apartment with a snack or on a mission to find your misplaced book, you hear her squeal of surprise as wings smack across her face or smack her into something. You apologize profusely and snatch them back, but she coaxes them out once more.
ŕź*ÂˇË Many times they knock off buckets of paint during your mid-paint session cuddles, but the goddess of a woman doesn't mind. Mel simply smiles and holds you closer.
ŕź*ÂˇË On her birthday, you allow her to paint your feathers with washable paint as a treat. She chooses a series of sunset hues that she masterfully applies. Your eyes widen with wonder every time you look in the mirror.
Hello again everyone! My name is Arriah, and for Womenâs History Month Iâve been highlighting and appreciating some of my favorite Black women writers across the fandoms Iâm part of.
Todayâs spotlight is the Arcane fandom.
Arcane has one of the most passionate and creative fandoms out there. The worldbuilding, the characters, the relationships, and the emotional depth of the story have inspired so many amazing fanworks. From intense angst and character studies to soft moments, alternate universes, and beautifully written slow burns, Arcane writers bring so much life to this universe.
Black women writers in the Arcane fandom add so much creativity, perspective, and heart to the stories they tell. Their work helps expand the fandom and creates spaces where readers can experience these characters in new and meaningful ways.
Fanfiction is built on creativity and community, and these writers put a lot of time and love into sharing their ideas with the rest of the fandom.
So for todayâs Womenâs History Month appreciation post, I wanted to highlight some amazing Black writers in the Arcane fandom whose work Iâve enjoyed and recommend checking out.
If youâre looking for new writers to follow or new fics to read, I definitely recommend showing them some love.
Small PSA
While putting together this appreciation post, I realized there arenât as many Black writers in the Arcane fandom space as I expected. Because of that, I want to take a moment to encourage people to actively support the Black writers who are creating in this community.
Writing takes time, creativity, and a lot of effort, and engagement really makes a difference. If you enjoy someoneâs work, please consider liking their posts, leaving a comment, reblogging their fics, or recommending their writing to others. Even small acts of support help their work reach more readers.
Black writers bring so much creativity, perspective, and passion into fandom spaces, and their stories deserve to be seen, appreciated, and celebrated.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Hey. I wanted to say that I love your work, though I only recently stumbled upon your account. Can I request something with Ambessa or Sevika (or bothđ) where it's the readers first time with them and she is like really sensitive and needy so she needs extra attention when she gets going
a/n: Hiii thank you so much for liking my work and giving this prompt! It was so fun, I had a blast trying to navigate this threesome. Iâm a little rusty in the smut department but I hope this lives up to what you had in mind!! âĄ
Attention
You cherish this arrangement with your partners. At 7:00 pm, you clock out of workâexhausted and wrung dryâand by 7:10, youâre in a private car on the way to their apartment. Giddiness courses through you throughout the entire ride.
Working a full time job on top of getting your masterâs degree is a challenge, but the reprieve you get with your lovers is everything.
As you enter, the warm light of the space, coupled with the delicious scent of your favorite candle, makes you smile instantly.
You find your lovers on the couch. Ambessa rests in Sevikaâs arms, sipping a glass of fancy red wine as she watches her cooking show. Sevika sips brown liquor slowly, though she puts it down the moment the pair spot you in the doorway. Smiles light up both their faces.
âHey there, pretty girl. How was your day?â Sevika questions as Ambessa sits up and opens her arms to you. You fall into them easily, letting out a sigh of relief as you cuddle into Ambessaâs warm embrace. Sevika reaches to play with your hair and caress your cheek.
âIt was gross. But itâs over now, thank you for letting me come over, âbessa. And thank you for being here, âvika. Missed you both. â You murmur into her chest.
âWe figured youâd be tired, so we already set up a hot bath.â Ambessa offers, as Sevika massages your scalp. You groan in pleasure, and smile up at them.
âYou know me so well, thank you both.â You profess, reaching up to press kisses to each of their lips.
Ambessa sits up with you in her arms and lifting you into a bridal position that has you squealing. Sevika smiles down at you, pressing a series of sweet kisses to your cheek before following into the bedroom at Ambessaâs side. As Sevika helps you undress, Ambessa has the grace to bring you a freshly made cocktail alongside the candle you love so much.
You relax in the warmth of the obscenely large bathtub until youâre practically pruned. A satisfied smile climbs on your face as you listen to the murmur of conversation in the bedroom. Theyâre waiting for you.
And by the time youâve tiptoed out of the bathroom, moisturized and wrapped up in one of Ambessaâs plush bathrobes, you come out to quite the surprise.
Ambessa and Sevika lay on the large, expensive bed that is decked out with extra pillows and sheets more expensive than you could even fathom.
Theyâre in sleepwearâAmbessa in the most tempting red slip dress that shows off her shape, and Sevika in a pair of boxers and a tight tank top. Thereâs a sliver of skin thatâs accessible, just a hint of her abs and happy trail. It makes your mouth water.
You gulp at the sight of them together, their joint beauty overwhelming. And when they set their eyes on you, cowering in an oversized bathrobe, you feel in your gut that tonightâs the night.
You've been together several weeks, but your inexperience, coupled with their immense restraint, means no lines have been crossed. Not until you instigated. They wanted to make sure you were ready. But tonight, the hunger within you is overwhelming. And they can smell it.
âCome closer, sweet thing, we wonât bite,â Sevika says, sitting up and beckoning you closer as Ambessa chuckles.
âNot unless you ask us to.â She remarks as you come to climb up onto the bed. You sit on your knees, fingers anxiously twisting the tie of the robe.
"I...I want to...fuck this is harder than I thought. I justâ" You struggle to articulate. But Ambessa saves you, catching on as soon as your mouth opens.
âYou donât need to be nervous.â Ambessa continues, reaching out to take your trembling hand. âWe just want to make you feel good.â
âIf at any point you want us to stop, we will. Tonight is all about you.â Sevika assures, her hand coming up to touch your cheek once more. Like sheâs reminding you sheâs here, grounding you in the moment.
The combination of their touch is enough to settle you. Arousal courses through you as you crawl forward. The wetness dripping down your thighs serves as a pleasant distraction.
You press a desperate kiss to Sevika's lips, gripping her strong shoulders, and allowing Ambessa bring the robe down your shoulders. She trails kisses down from your neck and to your back. One hand caresses your soft skin, the other comes to rest on your lower belly.
You tremble at the teasing touch of her fingers, grazing your untrimmed pubic hairâreminding you she has yet to stake her claim.
âTouch me. Please.â You practically beg, before Ambessa shushes you with a gentle kiss. Her lips taste of red wine and heat.
"Soon, sweet girl. But we have to warm you up. Don't want to break you now." She chuckles.
Sevikaâs eager hands caress your upper half, surprising you by circling the meat of your breast. Inching closer and closer to your hard nipple. You whimper into Ambessa's mouth the moment Sevika flicks it with her thumb, making you weak.
The pleasure of the unfamiliar touch makes your hips jump. Then she pinches. You whine gripping Ambessa's thick thigh to keep yourself steady.
Sevika coos. "You make the prettiest noises, baby. Just as I imagined." She murmurs, before dipping her head and taking it in her mouth.
Ambessa muffles your moan with her lips again, smiling into the kiss as your eyes flutter. Sevika's got a wicked tongue on her, but feeling it on your skin, playing with your nipple, devastatingly short-circuits your brain.
While she plays, going between both nipples when she feels one has had enough attention, Ambessa makes the bold move of dipping her hand lower. Your hips squirm as she inches closer to your wet heat, and when she rubs two fingers to your entranceâteasing without entering, playing with the wetness she finds in slow, agonizing circles that can be heard around the roomâyou nearly cum on the spot.
Her fingers are larger than yours, as are Sevika's, and it hadn't occurred to you until now that the nights spent fucking yourself to thoughts of them wouldn't compare in the slightest to the stretch of them in real life.
Both women chuckle and pull away to give you a moment. Tears bud at the corners of your eyes.
"Sweet thing, we've barely even started, and you're already worked up. Here, get comfortable. We'll take care of you, promise." Sevika rumbles, sharing a look with the other woman over your head. Before you can question, you're lying back in Ambessa's arms, legs bracketing her as she spreads, while Sevika kneels between them.
Ambessa's full lips press against your ear, whispering words of encouragement as Sevika gets comfortable, hungry eyes trained between your thighs.
"You've got such a pretty pussy, baby. Can I kiss it?" She asks, and you nod, hips arching in desperation for some sort of friction.
"Please, 'vika, I'm gonna die if you don't touch me soon. I need your mouth." You whimper, earning a sympathetic pout from your lover.
Ambessa's hand trails down your chest again, this time detouring to play with your nipples at the exact moment Sevika presses a kiss to your clit. A desperate whine falls from your lips, and Ambessa immediately soothes you.
"We're right here, sweet girl, let it out." She says, pinching and twisting your nipples in time with the strokes of Sevika's tongue.
You could cry at how delicious her touch is. She knows how to use her mouth to make your vision blur, flicking her tongue against your swollen clit, then sucking you into her mouth in perfect rhythm. A single finger swirls at your entrance, pressing gently to prepare you properly. You buck toward it, eager for more, but she denies you.
Ambessa remains steady in her support, playing with your sensitive nipples while taking the occasional break to ensure you're not overwhelmed. But no matter how careful either of them is, you can feel the tears streaming down your cheeks as an orgasm claws up your spine.
Your hips move against Sevika's mouth as you climb higher and higher. Whimpers and moans falling from your lips, youâre practically fucking yourself against her tongue in an embarrassing display. She dips it inside, curling up just enough to siphon a sob out of you. Then Ambessa does something wicked. She reaches down and circles your throbbing nub with her ring and middle finger.
A gentle touch that sends you careening over the edge with a series of broken moans.
"You're so sensitive, sweetheart. The smallest touch makes you go crazy. I love it." Ambessa rumbles, just as Sevika holds your hips down to keep you steady.
The first orgasm is only an appetizer, as the moment you're relaxed enough, Sevika tests the limit and slips one thick finger into your still pulsing cunt. Your back arches, you struggle against Sevika's grip as you try to both force her deeper and push her away.
"You're alright. Keep taking it like a good girl, I promise it'll feel so good. Sevika's great with her hands...but not as good as I am." Ambessa promises, her hand coming up to grasp your throat in a possessive move that thrills you. "When it's my turn, I promise I'll spend all day working you open. But for now, be good for Sevika. Keep taking her fingers, pretty girl."
You do your best, relaxing into your lover's touch as she begins to stretch open your tight hole. She's gentle at first, but the more you blossom, the harder she fucks you. Her thick finger hits all the right spots, and it doesn't take long for another orgasm to slide up your spine.
Helpless moans fall from you, as another finger slides in to your shock and pleasure. Ambessa holds you still and has the nerve to lick her fingers with a grin before rubbing your swollen, slightly protruding clit again, heightening your pleasure.
Sevika curls her fingers just right, at the perfect moment as Ambessa adds pressure, and you scream.
Creaming around Sevika's thick fingers, and arching your back against the onslaught of pleasure. Sevika and Ambessa move in tandem, working you up to another orgasm that has you sobbing. Sevika bullies your g-spot like it's her job, and despite the way you thrash in her arms, Ambessa keeps up her touch, driving you to insanity. Throughout it all grounding you with her grip.
They eventually let you breathe, murmuring soft words of encouragement and praise as you catch your breath. Sevika cuddles up to your side, and Ambessa holds you close pressing a kiss to the sweaty crown of your head.
"You did so good sweet girl. Weâll get you some water before round 2.â
hello! im so happy to see another black lesbian on here. ^^
Could you do a drabble/fic on ambessa going to piltover and leaving the reader behind. ambessa promises she will return even after the reader tells her not to go, to stay. ambessa doesnt make it back...
tysm ^^
a/n: Hiii, I'm so happy to see this request, love representing. I hope this is along the lines of what you were looking for đâĄ
In the Late of the Night
She informs you under the cover of darkness, wrapped up in your marital bed. Your safe place. She shatters it with her words.Â
âIâm going to PiltoverâŚto visit Mel,â Ambessa says, her warm voice nothing more than a whisper above you. She holds you in her arms, and when you tense, she tightens her grip. You can tell by her hesitation that she is lying in some capacity. That something about her statement is untrue. But youâre too stunned to challenge her.Â
You made a vow, the night of your wedding, to never lie to one another. To share your deepest, darkest secrets and bear the consequences. Her lack of transparency scares the living daylights out of you.Â
âWhen do we leave?â You whisper in reply, a hint of frustration lacing your voice. You donât like the last-minute plans.Â
It has been a disruptive few years already, with tensions growing in Noxus and Kinoâs disappearance. You canât take much more. But you want to meet Mel. You want to see her in person after so long. However, all hopes of that are dashed by Ambessaâs next words.Â
âWe are not going anywhere, my love. Iâm making this journey alone.â Ambessa replies, wincing when you sit up out of her grip suddenly. Â
The silken sheets slip down your bare back, revealing enough skin to distract your usually eager wife. But for once, she keeps her hands to herself as you glare down at her.Â
âWhat are you planning?!â Though you know deep down that if sheâs telling now, sheâs already planned every meticulous detail of this endeavor. The wheels are already in motion, youâre just the last to know.
âYou know I canât tell you. I have business to attend to that will keep me away for a long time. It is dangerous work; I cannot risk your well-being.â Ambessa replies, trying to placate your growing anger. But she only makes it worse.Â
âMy well-being. What the hell could be so dangerous in Piltover of all places? You sent Mel there for a reason. What are you planning on doing?! For the gods' sake, Ambessa. I'm your wife, you cannot leave me in the dark!â You snarl, not bothering to contain your volume. The servants know to steer clear of your quarters unless explicitly summoned.Â
âDonât force my hand. Please.â Ambessa practically begs, her expressive eyes filling with sadness. She sits up with you still in her lap, grasping your waist with one hand and pressing a hand to your cheek with another. âYou know I canât tell you. All I can say is that Iâm trying to right a wrong I should have amended years ago. Things have spiraled out of controlâŚI will not put you in jeopardy. I wonât.âÂ
âBut youâll abandon me here to wonder day in and day out what youâre doing. Youâll leave me to find out about your exploits through your letters, through Rictus, or worse, through rumor?â You snarl, shooting up from the bed to pace. Your hands tremble.Â
A horrible feeling settles in your gut. A warning of something you canât even begin to understand.
âYou canât go.â You say in an explosion of emotion, voice wobbling. Ambessa sighs and stands to join you. Her strong, bare figure is illuminated by the moonlight, drawing you in. Her beauty makes you weak in the knees, but you canât give in to her. Not right now.
âLove Iâ
ââNO. No Ambessa. I forbid it. You don't get to go off and do something horrible, leaving me here to pray youâre still alive. Unless you take me with you, IâllâŚIâllâŚâ You lose steam halfway through, visibly deflating as the fight leaves you.Â
You canât think of what to say because no threat you make will stop Ambessa once her plans are set in motion. Once sheâs set her sights on something. Your eyes fill with tears, and you rush into the bathroom to hide, walking away from her outstretched hand.Â
That night, you sleep far apart, tears stream down both your faces as the inevitability of her absence sets in.Â
Life in Noxus leading up to her departure is tense.
You go about your duties, tending to the Medarda Clanâs affairs as best you canâwhile worry threatens to swallow you whole.
You barely talk, barely touch each otherâbut the moment she steps toward that warship, regret rocks you.Â
Tears fall down your cheeks, and you rush to your wifeâs side.Â
âPlease donât go.â You whisper, holding her arm and pullingâpraying sheâll finally listen to you. Even though you know itâs impossible.Â
Her voice breaks as she placates you. âMy love, Iâll be back before you know it.âÂ
âDonât go, Ambessa, please. Stay here with me. Be here with me instead of fighting for something pointless. Invite Mel home and put down your weapons for once. Please, my darling.â You cry, reaching up to grab her pretty face as gently as you can.Â
You press a desperate kiss to her lipsâthey tremble against yours, as Ambessa fights her instinct. Fights against the sadness brewing in her chest.Â
âI canât, my love. I canâtâŚI have to do this. But Iâll return to your side. I promise you.âÂ
âYou swear.â You say through tears, looking up at her with a host of emotion swimming in your eyes. You meet her soulful gaze as she nods.Â
âI swear. Iâll be back in your arms when this is over. No matter what.â Her warm voice falls over you, comforting you for a brief moment. She kisses you deeply, once, twice, three times, as if sealing her love within you. Before she turns away and enters the warship.Â
Little do you know that will be the last time you see your loving wife. The last memory of her you'll cling to for years to come.
Nearly a year later, after monthly correspondence and updates that become progressively less frequent, a ship bearing Medarda colors comes to the docks.Â
But it is not Ambessa who steps off it.Â
Itâs Mel. Her eyes haunted, cheeks tear-stained as she walks off the warship, every bit as regal as her mother. She can barely look at you as she presents a familiar mask.Â
One you see in your dreams. It glints in the sunlight, just as your lovely wife once did. Youâve watched her don that mask alongside her armor more times than you can count. The slash across the face makes your lungs seize.Â
You fall to your knees, clutching her lion maskâsobs echoing through the streets as the reality of the situation finally sets in. The reality of a loss you havenât even begun to process.Â
Ambessa is never coming home. Your wife, the love of your life, your safe place in this worldâŚis never going to be in your arms again.Â
As I'm writing the next few chapters of my multi-chapter fic, I realized we hit 400 followers on this blog!
I'm shocked and so very grateful. Starting this was something I did on pure whim and itâs become such a fun experience sharing my love for these pixel women.
I'm so glad that 400 of y'all like this space enough to keep up with it! In honor of that milestone, I'm not sure what else to do but officially open up requests. They'll be open from now until the end of the month.
Minors DNI.
SFW is welcome, NSFW is also welcome, but please see the req rules before you request anything.
Preferably Ambessa, Sevika, or Mel focused, but I'll write for Vi, Caitlyn, and Grayson
This blog is focused on fluff and lesbian smut fics centering Sevika, Ambessa and Mel. Men and Minors DNI, you will be blocked.
âźâĄą what I write: SFW, NSFW fics focused on Ambessa Medarda, Sevika and Mel Medarda. I can write for Vi, Caitlyn & Grayson if the prompt is particularly inspiring.
â°â⤠characters:
âźâĄą Ambessa: Ambessa x Reader, Ambessa x Sevika, Ambessa x Reader x Sevika
âźâĄą Sevika: Sevika x Reader, Sevika x Ambessa, Sevika x Mel
âźâĄą Mel: Mel x Reader, Mel x Sevika, Mel x Lest
â°â⤠what I will write:
âźâĄą SFW: fluff, domestic fluff, headcanons, imagines, angst, hurt/comfort, hurt/no comfort
âźâĄą NSFW: I'm open to a-lot as long as its lesbian sex. strap-on sex, g!p in moderation, exhibitionism, bdsm, bondage, daddy kink, fem reader, gn/gnc reader
â°â⤠hard nos
âźâĄą racist or abusive depictions of characters
âźâĄą age play, excessive age gaps, pedophilia, incest, non-con
âźâĄą gore, foot fetish, piss play or scat play
Please do not request anything outside these boundaries or for characters not listed on this page. Your request will be deleted and your account possibly blocked âĄ
Description: A strange turn of events transforms what is supposed to be a reconciliatory dinner into a night of trauma and turmoil.
Tags: Sevika x Reader, slowburn, enemies to lovers, Medarda!Reader, Medarda Family Drama, character study, family drama, political intrigue
Wordcount: 5.2k
TW: aftermath of violence, descriptions of injury
boom!
When you return to Melâs apartment, Elora is the only person waiting. The back-and-forth of the last 24 hours has been exhausting, but you snap into focus at the look on her face. She is greatly concerned, wringing her hands in nervousness.Â
âWhat happened?â You question, eyes darting over the apartment for any signs of trouble.Â
âThereâs been another emergency meeting regarding the Council. Mel has to reschedule the dinner. Iâve already sent someone to speak with your mother. If youâd like, I can call for dinner, and you can rest in the guest room until the meeting adjourns.â She offers, though itâs clear she knows what your answer will be.Â
âNo, Iâm going. Iâll only be a moment dressing.â You state, moving to enter the room youâve claimed as your own. Dirt and Sevikaâs dried blood still stain your clothing. There is no way youâre showing up to the council like this, and Mel cannot go alone. Staying up to date with the councilâs status was imperative, and these consecutive emergency meetings were a great cause for concern. Despite your upset with her, the overall mission of this trip took precedence over your comfort.Â
âNo! I have a horrible feeling, you must notââ Elora practically begs, her normally composed demeanor breaking for a moment. But youâre taken aback.Â
âNo?â You question, freezing and whipping around to assess Elora once more. A quiet fury fills your voice. You like Eloraâyou are in her debt for keeping Mel safe and sane since the moment they metâbut insubordination was something you could not afford.Â
âYou must have me mistaken for my sister, Elora.â You take a step forward. âLet me reintroduce myself. My name is Liya Medarda. I do not answer to you or anyone.â You snarl, eyes cold as steel, as you meet her gaze. After a moment, you spin back around to continue your journey. A twinge of regret fills you as you hear her sniffle, but there is no time to amend your statement.Â
Getting dressed in a Medarda standard tunic and boots doesnât take long, and youâre back out the door in record time. Eloraâs insubordination would be noted for later. No matter her feelings, you had a job to do and a place to be. Melâs side.Â
A horrible wave of nausea crawls up your chest the closer you get to the tower. The trek up to the chambers is fraught with an unbidden type of fear. Something is wrong. You were certain of it. Boots clatter faster, your breathing hastens as you run to reach her. By the time you arrive and slip inside, nearly silent, there is a vote taking place.
You take your position behind Mel, hands clasped behind your back, and take note of her spot beside Jayce with an eye roll. Irritation pauses at the sight of a third party. What is out of place is the thin, brown-haired man with leg braces beside the boy genius. Although you werenât present for what led up to this vote, you had a strong sense that something steep was on the line.Â
The vote begins with a dramatic spotlight on the first to raise their hand; it moves around the room, and when Cassandra Kiramman raises her hand, a frisson of dread runs through you. Somethingâs wrong. It chimes through you like a mantra, your eyes dart around the room once more searching for any sign to validate your feelings.Â
Mel raises her hand, and as the spotlight shines down on her, another buzzing, bright light seems to cover her. She furrows her brow and seems to sense a presence as she turns to look over her shoulder.Â
Her eyes go wide, your heart skips a beat at the sight, glittering gold fills your vision, your back burnsâ
Then everything goes dark. Pain flares through you, and the world falls to silence with one last earth-shattering bang.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Ambessa Medarda has felt fear before. She felt it the day her son went missing, the day her husband died, the day her grandfatherâthe only real mentor, parent, or guide sheâd ever hadâdied under false pretenses. That day on the beaches of Rokrund when she saw her fate, belly full with a child she loved so fiercely. Where she met Kindredâthat was a primal fear close to this.Â
But she has never quite felt such a fear as she felt the moment the chamber was hit.Â
She was enjoying a quiet dinner at a restaurant in Piltover, attempting to plan with Rictus as she waited for her daughters to arriveâwhen the noise resounded through the city. A definitive boom that would haunt her nightmares for years to come. The ostentatious tower was so recognizable that it took only seconds for Ambessa to put the pieces together.Â
Mel and Liya were late. Mel was engaging as a Council Member often, quite noticeably in emergency capacities. Liya is working to secure connections to Hextech, connections best fostered in that Council room.Â
They were both late.Â
Sheâs on her feet before she can think. Rictus gets the gist quickly and pays the bill with a wad of cash before following after her. The restaurant Ambessa selected was relatively close to the Council Chamber tower to be considerate. To be compassionate. And now she thanked her intuition because the few minutes it takes to run toward the tower are hell. But it could have been worse.Â
She enters the smoking chamber, dread filling her every cell. Behind her, the Wolfâs Reapers, stationed as her guard, follow close behind, as does Rictus. Ambessaâs heart stops at what she sees.Â
Bodies strewn across the room, a broken table where Mel would have been, people pinned beneath rubble, blood poolingâ
âMEL!?â She roars, entering the room without a care for a single person other than her child. Her beautiful little Mel. Her eldest daughter, whom she missed so very much. She couldnât lose her, not now. So she searches, up and down through the chambers until she finds herâon the ground beside Jayce Talis.Â
Ambessa barrels forward, pushing the young man out of the way to cradle Mel in her arms. Her daughter trembles in her embrace. She leans down to meet her babyâs eyes, searching for any signs of injury. âAre you hurt?âÂ
âNoâIâLiya, sheâs here. She slipped in at the last minute, I couldnâtâI canât find her!â Mel reveals her panic growing as the shock gives way to realization. Tears burn in Ambessaâs eyes.Â
She already lost her eldest son. If she lost any more of her children, she might die. A piece of her died with Kino; her soul was ripped to shreds at the mere thought of his loss. She vowed from that day forward to do everything in her power to keep her daughters safe. And to think she was moments away from losing them both.Â
Mel moves from her motherâs embrace behind her to a rubble-filled corner of the room. The sounds of grieving filled the space as Jayce Talis discovers Cassandra Kiramman, and Councilor Shoola crawls to find Councilors Hoskel and Bolbok. Councilor Saloâs screams echo like a morbid backtrack. Â
âShe was standing behind me, I saw it hit the room, and then things getâthey get hazy, but she was right behind me.â Mel babbles, shock stealing her composure as she desperately searches for her sister. Ambessa remains close, but catches a glimpse of a shining metal. On closer inspection, she realizes with a sickening twist of her gut that itâs your hand sticking out.Â
The glint was your Medarda family ring.Â
âNoâŚNO.â She yells, surging forward and reaching to pull the slabs of stone away. Mel joins her with tears streaming down her face. Mother and daughter unearth their worst nightmare.Â
Youâre pinned beneath the remnants of the wall behind you, stealing your breath as you struggle beneath it. Tears stream down your face, blood trickles from the side of your lipâbut this is not fatal. They simply need to get you out.Â
âRICTUS!â Ambessa roars again, holding Mel close and helping her to stand away from the wreckage. He comes to her side, a hand coming to rest on Melâs arm to steady her as she sways. âWe have to get her out; she needs medical assistance immediately.â She states, and immediately Rictusâs eyes go cold with determination.Â
He watched you grow up. Watched you blossom from a grieving, troubled child to a fearless, calculated warrior. He fought alongside you, accepted your help when he couldnât mend his own wounds mid-battle, and trusted your strategy when the odds seemed stacked against youâyou are practically a daughter to him, too.
Within moments, he gathers and focuses the Wolfâs Reapers to clear the rubble. Mel reluctantly takes a step back, though her green eyes search for an opening to get to your side.
Ambessa and Rictus lead the charge of removing the rubble, and the moment youâre freeâand able to breathe, after moments of being so close to deathâyou scream. A stilted scream that pierces your motherâs heart. It cuts off with a gurgle of blood that hurts even more. The pain is lurid and so present that you have no choice.Â
Ambessa is by your side in an instant, wrapping you up in her arms as Rictus calls a medic. Mel comes to your other side with more tears streaming down her face. Sheâs shaking as she presses her hands to your arms and face to affirm that youâre alive.Â
âItâs going to be alright, darling, weâre going to get you help,â Ambessa promises shakily, a few tears of her own leaking down her cheeks as you struggle.
From what she can see, the injury lies mainly in your back and ribsâbased on your position, she imagines you must have been blown back into the now crumbled wall, and trapped. The pain must be immense; the panic of not being able to breathe was written all over your face.Â
You let out a stilted cry that only leads to you coughing up blood. âIt hurts! Mama, please. Mel, sheâsâ
âIâm right here, sweet one. Right here, itâs gonna be ok.â Mel assures, coming into your vision before tipping her forehead to yours.Â
Every second it takes for the medics to arrive feels like torture. Mel sobs softly when you cry out in pain, and Ambessaâs own murmuring reassurances only make the cold room feel sadder.
She can only spare a glance toward Jayce, who leaves the Council Chambers without checking on her or youâa crumbled familiar form in his arms. Viktor. A few more tears slip from Melâs eyes, but she pulls them back. She can only grieve for a moment; you are the priority. Her baby sister.Â
When they arrive and escort you to the medical tent in the warshipâthe only place Ambessa would allow you to be cared forâthe place is empty. A strange note addressed to the youngest Medarda, by first name only, sits on one of the hospital beds.
But Ambessa thinks nothing of it, and Mel snags the thing to slip into her dress pocket for later.Â
You read it a few days later, when your wounds are healed, and youâre no longer on deathâs door. Whatever words were scrawled seem to bring you comfort.
Mel watches from the doorway as tears fill your eyes, and a wistful smile tugs at your lips. When pain pulls you back to sleep, she catches a glimpse of the letter it only confuses her further. The elegant cursive and the vague nature of the message leave her with more questions than answers.Â
It reads:Â
Hey troublemaker,
Thanks for dragging me off of Death's Door. Guess weâre even now. But I have a feeling that wonât keep you away for long. Based on the fancy digs, I can see you risked a lot bringing me here. Your doc tried to keep me down, but I've got places to be. Things to do. Come see me when you've got the time. I want to show my appreciation.
- S
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Recovery is not an easy thing.Â
Though this is far from the first time youâve been on the mend after a battle, there is something insidious about having to heal in this place with no real idea of what occurred. It is easier to handle a knife to the gut when you can look your perpetrator in the eyesâbut for it to come in such a blindside makes you hyper vigilant. More so than normal.
There is speculation and conjecture running wild in the city. And to put it to rest, a swift and thorough investigation takes place several days after the attack. More facts come to light. More details on why some diedâsome, like Lady Kiramman and Councilor Hoskel, were simply unlucky in their assigned seatsâand why others survived. Architectural blind spots and the velocity of the bomb that shook the city.Â
But none of the information is consolation for your suffering. None of it led to the culprit.Â
The series of injuries you left the room with that day is harrowing. Cracked ribs and a nearly broken back. Itâs a miracle you landed the way you didâone inch to the left, and youâd have a broken spine. A cracked collarbone and a fractured shin. Another concussion, burst blood vessels in your left eye, and a growing, constant pain, no matter the fancy painkillers.
Mel does her best to allow your mother to take the lead in your healing, as you slept most of the day away to avoid the pain, but her connections in the city prove useful. Many renowned Piltover doctors looked you over, provided painkillers, and expedited fancy remedies. Nothing you hadnât seen before, but your gratitude for her constant assistance grew by the day.Â
Beneath all the complicated emotions is a festering desire to seek out that womanâSevika. Her letter is worn from your constant re-reading. You swear you can smell her faded perfume in the medical bay, on the crumpled piece of paper.
She haunts your dreams, both in sensual recollections of your time together and in less scandalous, wholesome memories of her simple touch.Â
The woman whom youâd only known for two nights essentially. You want to be wrapped up in her arms again, distracted from the world and the responsibilities that were waiting on the outskirts of your mind to pull you under.Â
You wonder how sheâs doing.Â
You'd give anything to see how she's recovering, to see with your own two eyes that she made it out of that dreadful state. But you can't risk your own recovery, nor could you risk being seen hobbling into the undercity.
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
2 Weeks LaterÂ
Cassandra Kirammanâs funeral is beautiful, all things considered. It is a grand display of appreciation for a matriarch gone far too soon. No expense is wasted, as every flower petal and ribbon of color acts as a love letter to her.Â
The Medarda family pays respects as a unit. All three women came together to present a wall of support for the visibly grieving Tobias and the stone-faced Caitlyn. Donning all black, stoicism written on each womanâs face. You all play the part well, remaining in the background of every interactionâa silent ally.
Caitlyn leans on her pink-haired companion heavily in the wings of the procession, and you see the cracks beginning to form. This poor girl is going to crack under the pressure. Losing a parent is never easy, losing your motherâŚyou canât fathom such a thing. As twisted as your mother could be when it came to military strategyâ if you were to lose her, youâd lose yourself.
Although you may not know Caitlyn well, you make a silent vow to check on her once more when your injuries allow. This attackâwhose origins still remain a secret despite how clearly you see guilt in Viâs eyesâ left everyone reeling. You see through the secrecy. The weight of something unspoken, some blame Vi puts on herself.Â
It doesnât take a genius to put the pieces together.Â
Jinx did this. Jinx trapped you beneath that rubble by her reckless actions; she was the cause of this constant ache in your back. An ache, the doctors say, you may never be rid of fully. She is the reason your sisterâs nightmares have started anew, the reason a mother was no longer here to raise her daughter, and yetâŚa tiny smile creeps onto your face.Â
Things were finally starting to get interesting around here. If she could create a weapon powerful enough to destroy that room, there was promise for this expedition yet. Hextech would be yours soon enough. This place would be nothing more than a memory if you had your way. And you always do.Â
So you limp over to Caitlyn Kiramman. Vi stares at you with thinly veiled suspicion.Â
âI know we donât know each other very wellâŚBut I am quite familiar with what itâs like to lose a parent.â You choke up with tears as you meet her gaze. âIf there's any way I can assist your family, please feel free to contact me through Mel. With all due respect, I must take my leave; the pain is becoming unmanageable. Peace be with you both during this troubling time.â You offer a grimace of a smile before limping away. Caitlyn watches you with a curious gratitude. Viâs suspicion and guilt only seem to grow.Â
There is truth in your words. The pain is becoming overwhelming, as standing for so long after such a short recovery period was not something you wanted to indulge in often. Right now, you need the plush bed in Melâs apartment and silence. Not only did your back ache in a blaze of fierce pain, but your head was beginning to pulse.Â
Ambessa notices right away as you make toward the back door, and both she and Mel flank you with ease. Though it would be more proper to stay, what matters more to both women is seeing you to your destination.Â
Cassandra Kiramman was a fierce, innovative woman who would not be forgottenâas was the case with her compatriots and co-workersâbut there was family business to attend to. Your recovery.Â
âLetâs get you home, youâve had enough excitement for one day.â Ambessa says, and out of the corner of your eye, Rictus moves closer to lift you.Â
You take a step away from him, with a glare. âIâm not a child. I can walk on my own, the pain is bad but not that badâŚIâll be fine.âÂ
âLet him help you.â Mel softly says, reaching over to take your hand. âYou should save your strength. I have someone coming to tend to your pain this evening.âÂ
âDo you really? I sure hope it's not your inventor boyfriend, Iâve no need for his tender touchâtrust.â You say offhandedly, begrudingly nodding to Rictus before allowing him to lift you into his arms. The pain grows for a split second before you settle into the hold.Â
âItâs not him. I have a friend who specializes in this kind of work. Sheâll take good care of you.â Mel says, squeezing your handâwhich she never let go of, even when Rictus lifted you.Â
âIâll need to meet this person before she goes anywhere nearââ Ambessa tries to interject.Â
âSheâs quite discreet, prefers to work under the cover of night, and with as little interference as possible. I would never do anything to jeopardize my sister.â Mel argues easily, brows furrowed as she fights her stubbornness.Â
âBe that as it may, Iâm her mother. I have every right toâ
ââWeâll work under any conditions she sets, so long as sheâs able to assist me. I refuse to be bedridden all day. Thank you, Rictus.â You say as he gently places you beside the carriage. You shiver at the sight of it every time. Itâs why you preferred walking in this god-forsaken city.Â
Although it looks nothing like the carriage you sat in that fateful day in Noxusâthe memory remains fresh. Especially after yet another near-death experience. As soon as you set foot in the carriage, however, a jarring bolt of pain shoots from temple to templeâdisabling you for a moment.Â
A pained noise falls from your lips, and you reach up to press a finger to the troublesome spots in an attempt to alleviate the pain. In a wave of red, the pain grows and grows. Like thorns are growing behind your eyes. A terrifyingly familiar feeling.Â
âWhatâs wrong love?â Ambessa questions softly, hand reaching out to cradle your face in her scarred hand. Mel tightens her grip on your hand, but you yank away from them both with a whimper.Â
âPleaseâŚno no no noâI donât want to go back.â You whisper, eyes closed tight against the onslaught of memories. Your hands are shaky as you reach up to press them against your eyes. As soon as you tighten them, flashes begin. Those cold, dark rooms. The blank stares, gaunt empty eyes, the screamsâthe pain.Â
Those words, your frantic and fearful stateâit is all too familiar to Ambessa.  A sad expression takes over her face. Mel watches as your mother and her most trusted guard exchange a panicked look.Â
The last thing you see is Melâs fearful expression, and the doomed understanding of your mother. Then your vision is overtaken by the bloodied thorns of a roseâs stem. The smell of charred, blackened roses fills your nose before you lose yourself completely.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Melâs never seen anything like it. She feels the shift in the air as you almost transform into a version of yourself she hopes to never see again. For a moment, she swears her eyes deceive her. Surely, she imagines the red flicker in your eyes right before the screaming starts.
Ambessa wastes no time in pulling you into her arms and trapping your arms down at your sides. She learned that lesson the hard way. You thrash, fight, cry against herâbut never once acknowledge the world around you. Trapped in the memory of those days, so far away from home. Tears bud in her eyes.Â
âWhat can I do to help?! Mother, please, tell me how to help!â Mel cries, letting the tears fall over her gold-flecked cheeks. Ambessa sighs, and you cry out in her arms again as a vision seems to repeat. Youâre trying to rip it out of your head.
âAll we can do is wait,â Ambessa explains with sorrow. You cry in her arms, eyes closed against the horrible things circulating through your mind.Â
What you see in your mindâs eye is not memories. The blackened petals that fall, and the storm in the back of your mind, are a torture of your mindâs own creation. Seeds were planted, and they had a tendency to bloom when jostled.
âPlease! I donât want to go back; sheâll kill me. Or worse, sheâll scrape me bare. Leave me empty the way she did the others. Let me go!â You yell, and Ambessa winces at the memory of your worst episodes.Â
When you returned to Rokrund, you were a different child. The âspellsâ were more frequent then, a daily occurrence. However, they waned over the years; fight training and strategic planning provided an outlet and focus. Now, though, the tight control you once had over the darkness in your mind snapped.Â
It takes the entire carriage ride for you to calm down. Ambessa holds you through it all, whispering reassurances between your panicked utterances. Mel remains by your side, eyes never leaving youâher hand outstretched to grasp onto you at a momentâs notice. But she hesitates, for fear of making the situation worse. By the time you return to Melâs apartment, youâve finally faded into that in-between state. Still stiff with fear, fighting against horrible memories. But quiet. Mercifully quiet.Â
Mel guides you to bed, once Ambessa reluctantly lets you go. She can see the way Mel is desperate to help in some way, desperate to make you more comfortable. When youâre curled up in the guest bed thatâs become your resting place these past few weeks, neither woman wants to leave your side.Â
âIâŚyou should stay here, tonight. I donât think sheâll take kindly to waking up alone in an unfamiliar environment.â Mel says, her voice quiet and unsure.Â
For the first time in years, she accepts her motherâs comfort. Ambessa wraps her arm around her oldest daughterâs shoulders.Â
âSheâll be alright, MelâŚthis is nothing new, although itâs been nearly a year since the last one.â Ambessa recounts, before guiding Mel out to the living room. She casts a glance back toward you, but Rictusâsensing her uneaseâsteps forward.Â
He only has to nod for her to know youâre safe under his watch. That he would remain watching over her daughter, as their family reeled from this traumatic event. One she should have foreseen.Â
In some ways, Ambessa had. Itâs the reason she came to this place: to protect Mel from this. Itâs clear now that her child could not handle the conflict properly. This should have never happened. The threat should have been neutralized a long time ago. But itâs too late to go back.
And it wouldnât happen again. Ambessa would ensure it.Â
âWhat causes them?â Mel questions, eyes trained on her mother for answers. Her eagerness to learn reminds Ambessa viscerally of the little Mel following her every word in the midst of the war room. Back when she was so eager to learn how best to make a name for herself as a Medarda. How to earn her motherâs approval. Before Ambessa was forced to shatter that dream for herâand for herself. To keep her safe.Â
âThe doctors deduced itâs a combination of trauma and a suspected head injury. They arenât just flashbacks, theyâreâŚsomething else. But all the solutions Iâve sought have proved temporary.â Ambessa explains.Â
âShe made it so long without oneâŚhas the bombing taken her back to square one?â Mel wonders aloud, concern lacing her voice.Â
âNo, sheâs nowhere near square one. That wasâŚone of the milder attacks Iâve witnessed. They were quite frequent in the early days of recoveryâŚBut I am concerned about how sudden it was. I presume sheâs spoken to you already aboutâŚthe incident.â Ambessa states, meeting Melâs gaze with a shared understanding. A shared sadness at the things youâve had to go through.Â
Mel doesnât need to respond; Ambessa knows her child well. âAnd Iâm glad. She needs someone to confide in. Sheâll be okayâŚI assure you.âÂ
Mother and daughter settle into a comfortable, but tense silence. And they stand guard through the night.Â
Mel and Ambessa enter a silent truce for the evening. No talk of wars, Hextech, or old wounds. They simply exist, mother and daughterâkeeping vigil.
 âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Lest comes in late the night, a silent angel bearing forbidden fruit. Ambessa regards her with curiosity, but does not say a word. There is a great irony in the presence of this vastaya coming to save the day. She simply nodsâsensing the importance of her discretion and lack of interference. If this would help with the pain, so be it.Â
Youâre half asleep when Mel guides the vastaya into the spare room. You look up blearily, tensing at the unfamiliar presence. But Mel is quick to comfort, kneeling at the side of the bed and gently rubbing your arm.Â
âLiyaâŚthis is my friend Lest. Sheâs here to help you manage the pain.â Mel explains gently, trying to ease you back into consciousness in a way that does not result in another violent outburst.Â
Lest steps forward, slowly taking off her shawl to reveal more of herself. The tall, elegant, cat-like ears and large yellow eyes mesmerize you instantly.
âLiyaâŚIâve heard much about you. Iâm sorry youâre in so much pain. I can help. If youâll let me.â She offers, not pushing but offering in a soft tone that should not be condescending. But it is only calming.Â
âWhat will you do?â You question, still untrusting.Â
Lest takes out her toolsâalmost identical to a painterâs brush and a pot of paint. How ironic, but fitting for an associate of Melâs. The substance within the pot glimmers and ripples in a dangerously enticing manner. It almost shimmers under the moonlight.Â
âIâve diluted a rather potentâŚsubstance. In the places you feel the most pain, I paint to mask the pain. It will hold for 24 hours. Should you need a re-up, that can be arranged. But I do not recommend using this as a crutch. It is a temporary fix for the worst of your pain. And it will become an addiction if you overindulge.â She warns, her words carrying an ethereal seriousness. In the dark of night, this clandestine meeting is like something out of a fairytale.
Despite the warning, you nod. You couldn't care less whatâs in it. So long as it takes the pain away.Â
âIâll need to see the area of your worst wounds. Iâll apply the healing there.âÂ
You gulp at the thought of showing your back to a stranger. But Mel is here, and you want the pain to stop. So you allow Mel to help you shift and to strip off the tunic.Â
When Lest begins her ministrations, you donât expect her to start at the top of your shoulder blades, where your worst scars lie. You flinch with a startled cry and move to stop her, but Mel calms you.Â
âItâs okay, sweet one. Sheâs just trying to find the source of the worst pain. It makes sense to follow the existing lines.â She explains, and the explanation calms you long enough to allow the prolonged touch.
It is an odd sensation at first. The first line Lest paints corresponds with the runic scarring. It almost seems to seep into your skin. With every stroke of her brush, the pain fades, and a slight buzz settles behind your eyes. She is methodical and intentional with every movement. It lulls you into a state of calm, hand clasped in Melâs.Â
The process takes an hour or more. Ambessa comes in to check the progress, hands clasped behind her back as she restrains herself from commenting or stopping the process. She can tell youâre already breathing easier, already less tense. Her eyes watch keenly as Lest finishes her work.Â
She leaves without a word, exhausted by the intricacy of her own work. Youâve fallen into a restful sleep for the first time in weeks, and as Lest leaves, Mel gives her a look of gratitude.
âI know this is quite unconventionalâŚthank you. Thank you so much.âÂ
Lest only nods, a conflicting mix of regret and longing in her eyes as she disappears into the night just as silently as she arrived.Â
AN: This chapter is the one I'm most nervous about lmao. In my planning, I felt the one canon plot point that absolutely would not change by our presence--bc Ambessa arrives the day Caitlyn gets kidnapped by Jinx--the attack on the council.
Also, Sevika has not yet connected the dots of what family Liya is a part of. She just figures she's a rich Noxian, but has no reason to recognize the Medarda symbol yet, because I imagined she wouldn't care what the house symbols are when her main focus is on Zaun's liberation and at that time Silco's work.
This is the last pre-written chapter. And I just started a new job, so things will be a little slower on the update side until more chapters are written. I know this is an awful cliffhanger to leave it on bc so much has been introduced so sorry đ¤ŁâĄ
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
description: Returning to Piltover after meeting Sevika, Liya walks right into the height of the family drama and a long-overdue confrontation. But an argument draws her back into the embrace of a certain Zaunite, who happens to be gravely injured.
tags: Sevika x Reader, slowburn, enemies to lovers, Medarda!Reader, Medarda Family Drama, character study, family drama, political intrigue, Ambessa needs therapy, Mel needs therapy, Local Cuisine needs therapy
word count: 5.8k
family matters
After your encounter with Sevika, you traverse the streets of the Undercity to return topside. You enter Melâs apartment to find the place in chaos. It hasnât been long, only a few hoursâŚbut this is not what you imagined returning to.Â
There is a manâthe same local cuisine who escorted your mother from the docks just yesterdayâ cowering near the door, uncertain and shaking. Melâs muffled, anguished voice sends shivers down your spine.Â
âWhy did you do it?!â You could just make out, and the words startle you into action. Something is happening, something private. This man didnât need to be here.Â
âLeave.â You command with a growl, and you watch as relief fills him. With explicit permission, he flees from the apartment on shaky legs. The shouting echoes through the apartment, and you walk in just as your mother, barefoot, obviously off-duty, emotionally relays something to Mel.
You only catch the tail end of it, but now you kick yourself for not being here earlier. The tension in the room is palpable from the hallway; your heart speeds up as you fight to move closer despite your instinct to flee.Â
âBecause you weakened me! I couldnât endure the look in your eyes whenever I made the decisionsâthe necessary decisions to keep us safe!â Mother cries, her voice vulnerable in a way you know is not easy for her. She has hardly ever shown this side of herself voluntarily.
Your heart sinks. You'd hoped this confrontation could take place far, far away from you. But alas, your desire to escape the sudden vulnerability you felt laid bare in Sevikaâs arms led you right into your worst nightmare.Â
The subject of Melâs exile was one left untouched for many years. You were so young when she was forced out that any protests you gave fell upon deaf ears. And the events that led up to it all made your mind so blurry with panic and grief. All you could remember with clarity was that one day your sister was there, and the next she was being sent away.Â
For decades, you wondered what led up to it. There are more questions than answers now, but the band-aid has been ripped off.Â
Ambessa stands and paces away from her daughter, veins bulging from her own furious grip. She sighs. âWe need that weapon, MelâŚI interfere here in an effort to both protect you and to prepare you. Let the war unfold. Then you come homeâŚ.take your place at my sideâit's where you belong.â She says, her large hand coming to rest on Melâs shoulder.Â
A sob falls from your sisterâs lips. Youâre unsure of how to approach the situation, in all honesty. Mother has trained you well for war. Processing military strategies, combat, or espionage situations was something you could do as second nature. Navigating this talk was not something you were equipped for in the slightest. But luckily, your motherâs sixth sense navigates the conversation for you.Â
The general clears her throat and turns her head toward where you hide behind a wall.Â
âI heard you come in.â She shouts, her voice making you jump as you realize how obvious you were. Even as she projects, there is a slight wobble to her words that gives you pause. Of course, she would have heard the front door open. And she would have heard her toy leave with the pathetic whimpers that fell from his lipsâyou were too focused on being nosy to think past your baser senses.
With a reluctant sigh, you walk forward. As you turn the corner, a sheepish expression comes easily.
âIâm sorry, I did not mean to interrupt. I just returned, but I can leaveâŚâÂ
âThereâs no need. Youâre welcome here. This has nothing to do with you.â Mel promises, her sadness pulling you like a magnet. You stand by her side and offer your hand in comfort. She takes it eagerly.Â
âIt has everything to do with me. The few short years we got together were not enough. I want you home, Mel.â You plead, allowing your real desires to slip forth as she looks up at you with wide green eyes. âIâve so needed a sister by my side. Think of all we could doâŚtogether. We could rule the world. Every inch of it.â You confess in a whisper that is a promise. You will rule the world, side by side.Â
Youâll make sure of it.Â
Kino did the best he could as an older brotherâbut between the large age difference, the early trauma shaping your young mind, and Kinoâs relentless pursuit of the ghost that stole your fatherâyou did not have many peers to turn to. Not many places to find advice or solace. Something you and Mel had in common.Â
You only had MotherâŚbut there were days you needed a sister to turn to. When the complexities of womanhood and life tripped you upâand the answers could not be solved by the merit of a fist or your cunning mindâyou needed her.
You squeeze Melâs hand. âI know you have a lot to think aboutâŚand I know that the choice cannot be made right nowâwe shall leave it for a later time. Maybe we should have dinner early, calm some of the tension.â You offer, considering every possibility you can think of to prevent any further damage to Mel and your motherâs relationship.Â
You catch a glimpse of Rictus out of the corner of your eye and grimace. The man is practically a father figure to you, but it still unsettles you to know he saw so much of an intimate interaction.Â
âNo,â Ambessa says, spinning around to compose herself before looking at her daughters. âWeâll have dinner this evening. At seven. We have yet to dine together as a family in this city; it's important for us to be together. For now, I shall give you space to thinkâŚI know that was a lot. Liya will stay here with you to ensure..âŚI love you, Mel.â She confesses in a whisper, her hand barely twitching as she resists the urge to reach out and touch her eldest daughter, before she stomps toward the door.Â
As she passes you, a glance is sharedâand you realize as you take in the tears in your motherâs eyesâŚthis is the point of no return. This confrontation would mark the end of an era. And you werenât even present for the full scope of it.Â
The urge to follow after Ambessa is strong. There are so many questions you have yet to gain answers to. What exactly had she done to Jayce? That was the only plausible answer as to what upset Mel to such a degree. There hadnât been much discussion on your motherâs plans for Jayce during training. You were not privy to her every move, butâŚyou knew the games she played. The depths she was willing to go to protect your family.Â
The man couldnât be so weak that heâd collapse and tell Mel all his dirty secrets of the meetingâand yet here you all were. Fractured and confused. Whatever confrontation led to the confession was none of your concern now. The only thing that mattered now was ensuring you could repair the relationship sooner rather than later.Â
If you did not stand as a united front, all would be lost. She would win. And all the answers you so desperately sought would be lost to this familyâs constant feuding once more.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Mel sits in silence for longer than she would ever admit. Your presence is a steady reminder that all is not lost, and that she is not as alone as it feels in this moment. You wait with her in stoic silence, unmoving like a statue.Â
Confronting Ambessa was not something Mel could have counted on today. But once the pieces came together, and Mel began to understand the layers of machinations Ambessa sowed in less than 48 hours, she was equal parts furious and devastated.Â
Because Jayce was supposed to be hers. Piltover, this place chosen to mock and humiliate the kindness in her heart was hers. She fought hard to make a name for herself in this city. To shape it into something useful, something beautiful. And now her motherâs presence threatened the exile she turned into a sanctuaryâfor reasons she still could not fully decipher.Â
Mel is now expected to believe that the choice to traumatize her was meant to protect her from the pain waiting for her in Noxus, but she senses more under the surface.Â
âYouâre thinking too much.â You whisper, coming to sit beside her on the bench. A hand comes to rest on Melâs cheek. âWhatever youâre obsessing over will not change the situation in the slightest. Let it rest for now.â You simply state, before gently guiding your sister toward her bedroom.Â
Without question, Mel allows herself to be guided to lie down. You lay beside her, after placing your weapons down on the ground with precision. The careful way you strip off every semblance of armor, before slowly making your way onto the bed, fills Melâs eyes with tears. Even with your torn allegiance written clear as day in your bright eyes, the care you take in making her feel seen summons more sobs.Â
Mel wants to go home. She wants to be with whatâs left of her family. She wants to get to know the baby sister that seems to have sprouted overnight â and possibly the mother she now suspects is much more complex than she ever could have imagined.
But there is more work to be done. She cannot just abandon the place she now calls home. The work she cultivated over the past 7 years. The first real friendships sheâd ever had outside of Elora. And even that was tainted with bureaucratic necessity.
HoweverâŚblood is thicker than water. Her family should always come first. Kino was already lost to herâand the mere reminder of his absence brought forth another sob that you soothe with a strong hug. She would give anything to hear his words of wisdom right about now.Â
âItâs ok, MelâŚIâm here. Just let it go for a bit.â You whisper. The spice of your perfume feels so distinctly like home that Mel falls apart even more. The sobs ring loud through the room, but you do not falter for a second. Despite the awkward uncertainty creating tension inside of youâstrong arms support Mel through the waves of overwhelming emotion.Â
You sit with her until the tears dry, and until her body aches from the force of her sobs. Never once do you shed a tear, despite the burning in the corners of your eyes.Â
When she can stand to look at herself, Mel makes her way out of bed to clean herself up. Her makeup is probably running all over her face, her hair must be a messâshe could not wallow in this forever. Nor would she allow herself to continue setting such an example for you.Â
You watch with sad understanding as she moves to, in essence, reapply the mask that has served her so well. She chooses to keep her face bare, however, though she skips the hassle of taking her hair out for now.
When she returns, youâre no longer in the bedroom, but the open door suggests youâve migrated elsewhere. She follows the familiar scent of cloves, honey, and sweet milk to the barely used kitchen. Her eyes water yet again as she enters to find you recreating her fondest memories. Your back is turned, but she can glance at the milk in one of the only pots in the house.Â
This sweet, spiced milk was Ambessa Medardaâs version of comfort. When words failed her, when her strong embrace was not enough to soothe her childrenâs worries, she walked them down to the kitchen quarters and made this drink. Even when the chef tried to take over for her, she refused the notion that she was not capable of making a treat for her own children. Every one of her children has a memory of their impossibly strong mother gently mixing this concoction with a wistful smile on her face.Â
Many a night, Mel found herself on her motherâs knee sipping a mug of this concoction fondly referred to as moonmilk. As they would only indulge when the moon was watching.Â
Tears threaten to spill down her cheeks once more.Â
âYou made moonmilk for me?â She barely manages to get out. You donât turn fully, as youâre still stirring the concoction to ensure the ingredients steep for long enough and the milk doesn't burn.Â
âOf course. I had a feeling you might need a piece of home to bring you some comfort. Your cabinet is poorly developed; there is not a single star anise in sight. I had to make do with a bit of ginger and extra cloves.â You chide playfully. The sweet smell draws Mel further in, and soon a mug sprinkled with a touch of cinnamon is placed before her.Â
âDrink. Dinner is on the way. Elora came to check on you afterâŚeveryone left, but I told her to come back in 2 hours. Curried goat and a seafood stew are coming. I didnât know which youâd prefer.â You softly state. The diligence of your choices makes her eyes water once more. Â
âYouâre so kind to meâŚthank you, sweet one.âÂ
You only nod in response before the front doorâs ringing steals your attention. Mel watches with awe and pride as you take charge of the space. Balancing the hot meals in your hands as you tote them to the kitchen, instructing the delivery men to stay at the doorway to preserve Melâs privacy.Â
She is bare-faced in a way that no one in this town, save for Jayce, has ever seen. And somehow, without asking, you know that the last thing she would want was for gossip to spread based on the puffiness and slight redness of her eyes.Â
You fill up a bowl with delicious-smelling curry for her and motion for her to keep drinking her beverage. There is a look of fondness flashing across your face that is so distinctly Ambessaâthat another wave of tears threatens to overtake Mel. But she fights against it and enjoys the comforting meal for as long as possible.Â
There is much still left to discuss, but for now, Mel basks in the nostalgia of this moment and prays she can convince you to stay behind in Piltover with her. To free yourself from the perpetual wars that Ambessa fought.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
When Mel retreats to indulge in painting to release some of the pain still swirling inside of her, you retreat into the guest room to have a breakdown of your own.Â
However, youâve been conditioned to fall apart in silence. Out of necessity. So you let tears fall in the quiet of the room as you sharpen your weapons.
Each methodical slice of the whetstone brings you closer to a state of peace. Though youâd been discreet up until now, it was not the norm for you to be in any room without some weapon on your person. Blades were most convenient, but you trained hard to master as many weapons as possible. Your real weapons of choice were never far away. They were your only companions.Â
The first, and most important to you, was a gift from Kino.
A long golden spear, with beautiful engravings on the tip and a textured leather handle. Symmetrical lines and a few phrases in old Ur-Nox and lost Shuriman languages, the tenants of the Medarda family cover what is essentially a work of art. It is a replica of the one Grandfather Menelik used in his first battle.
There is a tattered red cloak of Kinoâs tied to the hilt. A reminder now. Every fight was for him. Every enemy slain was one step closer to finding who killed him. It is your most commonly used weapon in battle, the one you trained the hardest with.
But the dual blades you clean after placing the spear on a display rack are your more informal weapon. Usually reserved for special occasions, as they are difficult to maneuver, but they have proven quite useful in the undercity.Â
They are twin drakehound hilts leading to jagged, curved blades. Normally attached to long chains that you wrap around your battle vambraces, for wide sweeping attacks and targeted attacks that drag an individual closer.Â
The ones you clean on the floor of Melâs apartment are the ones given to you by your mother, after your first completed campaign. A remaster of the ones you found glory with, in the Reckonerâs Arena of Noxus. There are still scars from the chains residing on your arms and forearms.Â
The mindless shuffle of cleaning is meditative, but the stifled silence of the apartments set off alarm bells in your mind. It is too quiet. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as you leave the weapons behind to venture in search of your sister.Â
You find her not far from where youâd left her, though the mood in the room has shifted. It hadnât occurred to you that her painting skills may have increased over the years. Youâd seen the painting above her bedâthe bloodied necklace of the Binan legacy, her first test.Â
Its symbolism was not lost on you. Surely, whatever she painted today would not be nearly as visceral as that. You were too young to remember her test very clearly, but its aftermath is still being felt to this day.Â
As you re-enter the living room, you also enter the shores of Rokrund. The painting is a masterful abstract depiction of the familiar shoreline, and the sails of Medarda ships in the harbor. Your heart skips a beat for a moment at the sight. There are many memoriesâboth good and badâof times you returned to its shores after campaigns. Like returning to the arms of a loved one, even now you miss it.
âAre you visualizing the shores youâll be returning to?â You question quietly, causing Mel to startle. Regret hits you square in the chest as she jumps around to look at you, uncertainty lingering in her gaze.Â
âI am... following my intuition. I have no idea how this will pan out, butâŚI wanted to remember. For the first time in a long time, I chose to remember.â She says, though you sense sheâs holding back.Â
You give her a moment before clearing your throat. âI understand youâve grown quite attached to Piltover, butâŚI cannot be off the mark in thinking youâd want to be with your familyâŚsurely?â You question, allowing your own sliver of vulnerability to fall through. It hurts to consider Mel staying behind in this place.
She sighs, and your heart drops. âItâsâŚcomplicated. I miss you so much, and there is a large part of me that wants to return to the life Iâve dreamed of having in Noxus. But itâsâŚitâs too late. The situation has developed beyond what I could have anticipated, and Iâ
ââif this is about the boy, I swear on our fatherâs grave I will drag you out of this place by your hair.â You exclaim, a sudden rush of anger propelling you forward.
The idea of being able to have your sister so close, only to lose her to some man, nearly brought you to your knees. No, nothing could take you there save for your own motherâs blade. It brought you to a place of nearly meditative rage.
Plans began to form, and his death became much more of an inevitability as opposed to a reality.Â
Melâs own anger cuts off your thoughts.Â
âJayce has nothing to do with this. The work weâve facilitatedâalongside Viktorâis part of the reason I am hesitant, but itâs not all about this clandestine romance youâve created in your head.â Mel spat, for the first time, truly beginning to lose her temper with your sister.Â
Though Mel losing her temper was not nearly as terrifying as it should have been. The way her face scrunches evokes such fondness in you, until she continues to speak. âI have friends hereâŚa beautiful opera house I havenât even gotten to share with you because Iâve been too busy fending off our motherâs attempts at espionage. My reluctance to return to Noxus is not a result of some romantic entanglement.âÂ
The pieces fall into place at her words.
âYou love this placeâŚtruly.â You whisper in disbelief, eyebrow lifting in indignation. âI guess mother was rightâŚyour sentimentality and compassionate ways belong firmly planted in this sinking ship of a city. I will not plead. I will wait until you see the error of your ways. Maybe then youâll see how beneath you this is when the war has already begun. When your precious city is up in flames.âÂ
âWhy is it so disgusting to you that I might feel something? That I might think of other peopleâs feelings, or consider the best ways to get everyone what they want without lobbing off their heads? What could be so disgusting, so wrong about that, I will never understand! Just because the two of you walk around with an ice block for a heart does not mean that I have to be the same.â Mel snaps in response, more tears burning in her eyes. She has never once lost her temper in such a way with you. Genuine anguish and rage bled from her every word, and they pierce your heart.
Deep down, you know this outburst isnât meant for you, but for your mother. Youâre simply here, while she is off continuing her mission. Her words still sting, however.Â
The insult surrounding your ice-cold heart especially makes your stomach drop.Â
When your most compassionate act led to torture in that hellish place, the ice began to form. Not of your own volition, but out of necessity. A shake of your head cleared the dark thorns climbing to steal you from the present.Â
âYouâre right, Mel.â You state, heart, thundering as you try your hardest to keep composed. âYouâre not like us.â You hiss, voice dropping low as rage fills you as well.
Another part of you takes over as horrible acid flies from your lips. âIt is glaringly obvious to me that youâd prefer to sit on your spoiled rear and waste your days watching this city burnâby your handâthan to face the responsibility attached to the Medarda name. Our name.
I have a heart. It may be ice, but it beats for my family, for the mother who nursed me back to health, for the memory of a brother who did his best to love me back into someone worth livingâŚfor the father I barely got to know, but who gave his life protecting us.â You growl, stalking toward her with increasing tears as your composure leaves completely.
The words come off so enraged, but for a moment, you deflate. Exhausted already. ââŚHave you ever considered that bleeding heart of yours is so focused on everyone else in this world, and not those who should matter most to you?âÂ
Your words give her pause. Tears fill Melâs eyes, and she struggles to find the words to refute your claims.Â
âLiya IââÂ
âIâm taking a walkâŚI know I just returned, but I need space. You need space. We all need space before I rip this place apart. Iâll be back for dinner.â You offer, swiping your own tears before standing to leave.Â
Melâs pleas fall on deaf ears as you escape the apartment once more, fleeing into the open air of Piltover and into the afternoon heat.Â
As the door closes behind you, Mel releases a frustrated yell, and the sound of paint splatter echoes through the place. But you continue forward.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Running to your mother after such an encounter would only make things worse. You are not a child; you can manage your emotions and navigate the blinding hurt all on your own.Â
The only thing you could think to do to occupy your time was to seek out answers. The slip of paper Sevika gave you could lead to many good things. You were half tempted to find her again, to pick her brain after finding a place to start with this Madam. This back and forthâtopside, undercity, Melâs apartment, the streets of Pitloverâwas exhausting. But it was a necessary evil.Â
The address led to a warehouse in the slums of the Lanes, and god knows what youâd find there. Returning to the Undercity felt so silly after spending so much time in the place hours ago. But the warehouse is a tempting lead.
Madam Margot may not be able to provide much information, but if she could give insight into the mystery merchantâs illegal dealings, possible blackmail could be unearthed when the time for confrontation came.Â
As soon as you set foot in the Lanes, an ominous sense of foreboding falls down your spine. A storm is coming. Your heart drops when The Last Drop is not nearly as lit up as it had been the previous evening. An establishment like this would be lit up all the time. When the Lanes were a perpetual smog-filled night, a 24-hour bar only made sense. ThisâŚdid not bode well.
You only knew the woman for one short night, but you were becoming quite attached to her. To the thought of her velvety voice and brooding expression. The closer you get, the more disturbed you feel. The front doors are locked, but it only takes a few twists of a makeshift lock-picking tool for you to get inside. Noxian training is quite thorough. Covering a wide range of scenarios and circumstances.
Entering the doors of the Last Drop to find the aftermath of a horrible fight sends shivers down your spine. The bar is trashed. Chairs are broken, floorboards snapped, and trails of blood run wild everywhere. A great battle took place here, but you see no evidence of death. And yet, no sign of Sevika sending your heart into a fast, unpredictable rhythm. You step carefully.Â
âSevika?â Tip-toeing over the pieces of furniture and searching for a glimpse of your new lover felt like torture. Your heartbeat beats louder with every passing moment. The silence grows unbearable, and your vision blurs.Â
Then you turn a corner and find the jukebox. See her hanging from it, limbs dangling upside down. Her prosthetic arm is gone, ripped from her in a most violent display. For a split second, her stillness makes you want to throw up.
Surely after one meeting, you shouldnât care about a random civilian so much, butâŚSevika has a hold on you. The moment she groans and gives a little twitch, relief courses through you in waves. It nearly sends you to your knees.Â
âDear gods, what happened?â You question without thinking, running to her side and assisting Sevika out of her predicament without question. It takes a great deal of concentration to haul Sevika upright and out of the broken equipment.
Sheâs in horrible shape, bruised and bleeding from wounds you couldnât fathom. Her missing prosthetic leaves behind a dripping port that seems incredibly painful.
She winces as you place her on the ground, but you let her lean against you as much as she needs to catch her breath before beginning the trek out of the Last Drop.Â
âYou still havenât answered my question.â You grumble, assessing her wounds with calculating eyes and gentle hands.
âI donât have to answer your damn questions,â Sevika replies shakily, her breathing becoming labored as she fights to stay conscious.Â
âConsidering Iâm the reason youâre upright, I suggest you treat me with more respect.â You state, before hauling her up further on your shoulder and increasing your pace.Â
The leak is growing worse, and your concern increases. Thereâs no way thatâs healthy, and there was no way a doctor in this hellhole can care for her properly.Â
âWeâre going topside.â You warn her, before steering her toward the elevator you've used before.
A plan is already forming in your head, ways to avoid being seen with this obviously injured Undercity criminal. You could give her your cloak and profess her to be a fallen Reaper to get into the medical bay. At the very least, you could profess her to be a key witness in some scheme of your mother's.Â
All you had to do was get her to the ship. It would be hard, and incredibly annoying. But worth it. This woman, whom youâd only really known for that one night, felt like the kind of home youâd dreamt about.
Something in her called to you. And that didnât happen often. The world passed you by in a blur of threats, family obligations, and strategy. Connections were few and far between. Something about Sevika made you want to melt.Â
âWhat?! Are you out of your mind? Just because I fuck you one time doesnât mean Iâm your girlfriend, sweetheart. Iâm a grown ass woman.â Sevika growls, though itâs halfhearted.
âA grown ass woman who will die if she doesnât take my help. You know very well you canât sleep this off. I have access to a discreet medical tent equipped to handle situations like thisâŚyou helped me, let me help you.â You implore toward the end, a bit of softness slipping into your words. Sevikaâs eyes go tender and mildly surprised for a split second before turning hard again.Â
âI donât need your help.â She remarks with a scowl. You return the scowl in turn and teach her a lesson quickly.Â
It doesnât take much to untangle her from your shoulder and let her body drop to the floor. She tries to catch herself, but the weakness from blood loss and her injury leaves her helpless. She flops to the ground with a pained groan that breaks your heart. But her stubbornness is annoying, and you certainly donât have time for it.Â
She looks up at you with a glare. âAre you done?âÂ
âAre you done? Iâm trying to save your life, and your mouth will get you in more trouble than you can handle right now.â You hiss before pulling back the anger with a deep breath. âIf you keep quiet, I can take you to real help.â You state, head tilted as you spit your vitriol, well-intentioned.Â
She growls, but nods in a stiff way that suggests sheâs in pain. You help her back up with ease and start the long trek toward the elevator. Halfway through, you pause against a brick wall in an alleyway to give her your cloak. Sevika is shivering from the shock of her injuries.Â
The cloak has the Medarda house symbol woven into the bottom corner, which you only realize once you hand it over. But Sevika doesnât notice. She notices nothing as her skin steadily grows paler, and she becomes weaker. It takes all your strength to get her to the elevator, and at a certain point, youâre the only thing holding her up.Â
By a miraculous twist of fate, the guards are gone when you reach topside. The elevator is empty, and youâre able to begin the trek to the ship with ease. The guards are present and surprised by your guest.
They help you bring her into the tent, though they seem unsure of what they're assisting with. And if it will cost them their heads when General Medarda finds out. Sevika's full unconscious, which is incredibly worrying, youâre relatively grateful.
Having to explain this to her would have been a nightmare. The medic tent is in the opposite direction from the living quarters, thankfully. The only person present is the doctor on call, who stumbles at the sight of an injured civilian.Â
âMy associate needs assistance, Dr. Keyleth.â You state, and Sevika is taken from your arms with haste.Â
She looks out of place surrounded by the blood-red Noxian decor. You sit and wait with her, never once letting her out of your sight until sheâs patched up and stable.
As unsettled as you are by her continued unconscious state, you are well aware of the fact that she would have quite a negative reaction to your life. Itâs one thing to be known as a soldier. Itâs entirely another thing to be known as the soldier sister of a council member who had a direct hand in disenfranchising her home.Â
Her unconscious state was a blessing in disguise.Â
The doctor, as you expected, handled her case with great care and rapid attention. A team of nurses is called in to facilitate a quicker service. They do not question this odd civilianâs presence or her stateâthey simply do their job. As good Noxians should.
You stand guard, watching every twitch, every furrow of Sevikaâs brow. And with every second that passes, you pray your mother is not lying in waitâready to question this visitation.Â
Within an hour, the worst of her wounds are patched up. The nurses and assistants all vacate the room. Sevika lay still unconscious, but stable for the time being.Â
âI need you to shut the medical wing down until I return. If she wakes, do not allow her to leave. And do not, under any circumstances, allow my mother to see her.â You implore Dr. Keyleth, who nods gravely at your request. âIâm engaging in an endeavor on her behalf and caught some snags with my contacts. I would prefer to keep this quiet. I will pay you handsomely.â You promise, switching on an embarrassed facade that works the trick.Â
The doctor nods.Â
You sit with Sevika for as long as you can, watching with bated breath as she seems to stabilize. The tension in her strong frame seems to lessen as the medication does its job.
You wonder, distantly, what she looks like when she sleeps properly...in the late hours of the night, does she snore? What would she do without her prosthetic? Was her left hand her dominant hand? Where could she go to get a replacementâif it was even possible?Â
It was so gruesome of her attacker to rip it from her. Even during your most brutal battles, if an opponent had a prosthetic of any kind, youâd never rip it from them unless the situation was dire. Leaving her there without it was personal.Â
Whoever did this to her would pay. Even if Sevika wasnât âyoursââŚshe was under your protection in some way. She needed it, obviously.Â
For the time being, patience would be key. For now, your duties call. Itâs nearing the time for you to face the music of your family tragedy.Â
With one last look to the doctorâand a silent prayer that the woman does her job correctlyâyou leave the premises reluctantly.Â
You have a dinner to get to.
AN: This chapter was a lot. I had to edit it a bit before releasing, but I love the final product, lots of juicy drama.
Mel and Ambessa had their fight, which led to some beautiful sibling bonding and arguing. Sevika and Vi had their off-screen fight, which led to us getting to assist her. I always wondered how she recovered from being thrown into a piece of machinery lmao Next chapter is a doozy, and also the last pre-written chapter, so it will take a little longer between updates. See you soon âĄ
description: While investigating leads in the undercity, Liya has a run-in with a few familiar faces and an encounter with a notorious Undercity criminal that blooms into an unexpected connection.
tags: Sevika x Reader, slowburn, enemies to lovers, Medarda!Reader, Medarda Family Drama, character study, family drama, political intrigue, Sevika does not get paid enough, Vi is pissed,
word count: 5.8k
18+ MDNI
undercity adventure
Making your way into the Undercity alone feels like a poor choice.Â
Caitlyn is nowhere to be found when you make your way to the Kiramman estate to rope her into your search, and taking a Wolfâs Reaper would draw too much attention. Rictus, too, would be a walking beacon of suspicion beside you.Â
So alone you go, after changing clothes, of course. This wouldnât be the first time youâve had to employ a costume change to conceal your identity.Â
You steal a long, dark hooded cape from your Mel first and slip on a corseted leather top with little inlets of shoulder and chest armor. It goes well with the dark baggy joggers you wear. Your belt-knife is non-negotiable, although you conceal it well. It is virtually impossible to conceal the drakehound blades at your hip; however, the cape does a decent job of making you seem less threatening. They are a necessary evil. You refuse to go into that place without some proper weapon. Â
Reconnaissance was not unfamiliar to you in the slightest, but this city was under such sensitive turmoil that it directly affected your dear sister. If you didnât play your cards well, youâd cause more issues for yourself.Â
The elevator leading to your prize is guarded fiercely. Pairs of enforcers block the passage to your mission. But they donât stand in your way long.Â
You approach the shortest of them, a beady-eyed, bulky man whose eyes linger on you a moment too long. A seductive smile slides across your face.Â
âHello, officer. I apologize for the intrusion. I know security is tight around here. Iâm an intern under Councilor Talis, and IâŚembarrassingly enough, I left an important artifact near the geysers.â You lie, dropping your hood to look down at the man. âCould you let me pass? I promise I wonât be long.âÂ
The elevator leads you down, deep into a city you didnât even know existed.Â
Youâve heard of the âUndercityâ or Zaun, as it was referred to in the few history books that bothered to mention it at all. In your studies, this place never managed to be of extreme importance, but now your keen eyes take in every detail in hopes of discovering a clue of some sort. As the darkness consumes you and dirty neon lights become the only source of light, you wonder what in the world a girl from House Kiramman could want with this place. And you begin to understand how this maniac called Jinx might have been born in a place like this.Â
The single lead you gathered from Kinoâs papers is a seedy-looking bar in what seems to be the heart of this putrid city. Every underhanded individual in the city frequents the bar, one of them being a prominent Piltovian merchant, whose name you could not parse. Kinoâs research was scattered and partially destroyed, but you pored over ledgers and letters to find a few suspicious sets of receipts tied to an unsanctioned warehouse in the Undercity.
One of these people would give you a lead, just enough to get what you need.Â
A large neon sign tells you the name of your destination: The Last Drop. Under normal circumstances, you wouldnât waste your time on such an establishment. You could get wasted on better liquor in Melâs apartment or after a quick scavenge of your motherâs tent on a campaign.Â
But something else pulls you closer.Â
You see her barreling out of the establishment with a purposeâa cigarillo perched between her plump, dark-painted lips. Her dark hair falls to her broad shoulders in a half-pulled-back style. Revealing a blue-tinted scar on the left side of her gorgeous face. You want to run your tongue down the ridges of them, see how they feel. Her strong nose and brooding expression make your heart race. Sheâs broad, strong, and intimidating in the best way.Â
A drunk passerby knocks into her, spilling droplets of a drink onto her clean plum colored poncho. She nearly sends them flying to the other side of the street with one hit. Her movement reveals a metal arm that shines under the light. It is a magnificent piece of machinery that you want to look at up close. Her voice echoes through the streets â angry, brash, but somehow still so sultry.Â
Sheâs perfect.Â
You want herâno. You need her. She is the perfect woman to give you what youâve been desperately craving. Your insides turn to mush as you gaze at the goddess you crave more than air itself. She looks like she could tear you apart. Thatâs not a compliment many people can earn.Â
You take a step forward but freeze when instinct alerts you to the presence of another right behind you. They reach for your shoulder, but you are faster. In the blink of an eye, you spin around, unsheathing your belt knife with ease. Fire blazes in your eyes as you lunge, pinning the shadow to the grimy wall. The neon lights illuminate your opponent right before you slit their throat.Â
âVi?â You question, cocking your head in confusion. The two of you had yet to formally meet, but her presence at the Council meeting left a lasting impression on you. When this adventure was complete, youâd made a mental note to inquire about her further, as she was the closest connection to the Hextech-wielding Jinx. But it seems the universe has brought her to you.Â
âWho the hell are you? And why is a council rat wannabe sticking her nose down here? Havenât you done enough for this city?â Vi questions aggressively, bucking against your grip and constantly trying to regain control. But your hold is firm. Her brawn is admirable, but your technique overrides her desperation.Â
âI have no idea what youâre talking about. Iâve been in this city for less than 48 hours, and Iâm simply a relative of a Council Member. And a friend of the Kirammanâs, as of last night. Iâm not your enemy.â You try, very well aware of the fact that this woman could become a threat at any moment. And that your position adjacent to the council made you an immediate enemy to her.
âLast night? You know whatâactuallyâI donât care. Let me go before I break your precious little hand.â Vi snarls, her pale blue eyes boring into you with a mixture of fear, discomfort, and surprise. You hold the knife on her for a moment longer, cutting into her skin to draw a small droplet of blood. Just a reminder that you could kill her, and as a silent warning not to touch you again. Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
Her snarl remains as she rubs her aching wrist and staunches the small bleed. You cannot help but chuckle at her ferocity. Like a fussy puppy. To the average person, her obvious strength might be intimidating, but you are not average. When you look up at a man like Rictus every day of your life and spar with a strategic genius, a certain level of resistance begins to grow. She is a pretty thing, though.Â
You release her reluctantly, twirling the knife in a trick before putting it away. âDo you go around attacking every person you deem ill-suited to visit your precious Undercity? Or have you just chosen to harass me today?â You question, glancing around you once more at the dismal surroundings to ensure she is alone. You wouldnât put it past her to ambush a council memberâs relative for more information.Â
The place has a certain undeniable charm. Grungy but full of life and personality. That charm is background noise however, the moment you glance at that goddess once moreâjust to find her looking right back at you. Her glare makes you weak in the knees.Â
You turn back to Vi. âIâm not going to stand here with you all night. Iâd be happy to help you continue whatever it is you were stomping around here doingâ
ââI never saidâI donât know if youâd exactly blend in with my mission. Youâll only draw more attention.âÂ
âFine. You wouldnât happen to have a spare set of magically stylish street rat wear?â You snark, earning a flare from Vi that only amuses you. âI thought notâŚIâm going to continue my business. Iâll see you around, VioletâŚtry not to need my assistance.â You say, looking at the shorter woman with a challenge in your eyes. As you try to move away, she grabs your arm. Your glare grows, and you barely resist the urge to push her back.Â
âYou should go home,â Vi warns, genuine concern cropping up in her eyes. âYouâll only get yourself hurt by staying here. Youâre inviting trouble.âÂ
âOh, darling, are you worried about me?â You chuckle, tilting your head to look down at Vi with more curiosity. You lean in close enough to smell the fading floral perfume on her adorably ratty hoodie. It smells of the Kiramman household. She flushes.Â
âYou need to worry about yourself. A Kiramman playing unsanctioned detective with an Undercity thug will surely catch some unwanted attention and land you in a dangerous situation. Youâll need my help getting out of this bind long before I need yours. Good Night, Violet.â You state with a sly smirk, watching and dissecting every microexpression flashing through Viâs face as she reels from your words. She lets you go.Â
You step away from the pink-haired young woman and make your way toward the towering goddess whose mere presence calls to you.Â
It is clear youâve intrigued Vi in some way, but not enough to pull her away from whatever mission she found herself on this evening. That was fine. For tonight, you had your own mission.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
The goddess moves into the sketchy-looking bar the closer you get, but by some luck, the bouncers sense either an easy target or enough of a threat to let you by without questioning. Their eyes linger on you in more morbid curiosity than anything. They want to see how fast youâd fall into trouble.Â
As soon as you sit at the bar âas close as you can get to where she sits, gambling in some card gameâyou are swarmed by idiots of all shapes and sizes.Â
On one hand, you canât blame them. Though Medarda war triumphs and brutality were the prevailing legacy, the beauty and enchanting nature of the Medarda women have long since been the source of myths and sonnets. Although in this bar you were nothing more than a rich-looking girl with a pretty face, something drew them to you like a moth to a flame.Â
She glances toward you, that blasted cigarilloâwhose herbaceous scent informs you it was not just tobaccoâhanging from her beautifully plump lips. She doesnât move an inch, taking your predicament in with a resigned frustration. Like sheâs waiting until the last moment to step in as if that was a givenâthat you canât handle yourself. If only she knew.Â
The first man who dares graze his greasy paw at your inner thigh loses his hand within seconds. It is quite unfortunate. Your drakehound hilted blade moves with a clean swing. The blood that will surely stain Melâs cloak and be a pain for the cleaner to get out. It will leave a terrible impression on the staff, and your dear sister will be less than pleased. But itâs a hazard of your occupation. His panicked screams fill the bar, mingling with the thumping pulse of the music. His hand flops to the ground with a thunk and is lost in the crowd as an eager partygoer kicks it too far.Â
He lunges at you out of sheer frustration and pain, and you evade him instantlyânot taking your eyes off the woman. She is barely paying attention to the cards before her, but not a single person at that table dared to question her. The unspoken power she wields intrigues you to no end. You want her to use it on you. To bend you to her will for the night and leave you limping back to the responsibilities that threaten to overwhelm you.Â
When he tries to grab for you again, with a quick maneuver, you send his face into the hard bar top. His bones crunch beneath the force of your hands; you let him go once unconsciousness sinks him to the ground. With a huff, you check your manicureâjust for show. But you can feel the way she continues to watch you. She chuckles at your display.Â
A few of your victimsâ buddies finally catch on to the fact that one of their own is down, and they crowd you in a tirade of angry yelling. The bartender arrives with your drink just in time, and the thrill of the fight guides you to down the drink in two gulpsâbefore smashing the glass against the nearest goonâs head.Â
The swift wildfire of a fight never ceases to invigorate you. It never ceases to make you feel at home. The world around you is chaosâbeautiful chaos, in all its glory.Â
You pull your blades back into your grip in tandemâand an excited smile twists your pretty lips. Itâs impossible to push down. This bar brawl was no real testament to the damage you wanted to wreak just for the hell of it. Just to show off to that brooding goddess, whose gaze grows more heated as she anticipates the fight.Â
There is not a hint of hesitation in your body as you gleefully slice and dice your way through the growing crowd of opponents.
The group of harassers dwindles as the nearest assailant stumbles to stay on his feet, reeling from the impact of the glass to his headâleaving you ample opportunity to kick him back down into the world of the unconscious, along with his buddy, with a well-placed kick.Â
The next man reaches for your neck and gets a blade through his forearm for the trouble. He, too, lets out a surprisingly girlish scream that makes you chuckle. You move with brutal precision, devastating power in every blowâjust as you had been taught. You rip the blade back out of his arm, wiping the blade off quickly with his shirt, before sending him backward and into the crowd with a powerful kick. Your steel-clawed boot will most likely leave a bruise on him.Â
The commotion of the fight causes random people to get shoved, and their irritation leads to mindless aggressionâgiving you all the more reason to stretch your muscles. You let loose on every person who aggresses toward you. Non-fatal attacks that inflict maximum debilitating damageâno need for death in this place, at least not until after you got what you wanted. You donât pummel innocent bystanders, but those who make a move against you regret it.Â
Hand-to-hand combat was once your hobby. That well-rounded training style serves you well in moments like these. You take down nearly a dozen men without breaking a sweat before you feel her presence lumbering up to you. She scowls down at you and grabs your arm with just enough force to keep you still.Â
âYouâre trouble.â She growled, though the slight smirk on her face gave away her true feelings. Your stomach flutters with anticipation. Her low voice penetrates past the hustle and bustle of the surrounding fight.Â
âI am. Why donât you set me straight?â You tease, still panting from the fightsâadrenaline pumping through you as you shake from the high of it. She responds with a grumble before pulling you up toward a staircase. She pushes you to walk forward, though the tight grip she keeps on your arm reminds you not to move out from where she guides. Like you wanted to move away from her in any way.
You want to drown in her. As she drags you up the stairs, her spicy perfume hits your nose. Itâs some heavenly mixture of sandalwood, some set of spices you could not name, and smoke. Her quiet, easy dominance is intoxicatingâand you barely register the way she throws you into a small room and slams the door behind her.Â
Sheâs pissed, but thereâs a glimmer of something delicious in her eyes that makes you shiver. âYouâre lucky youâre cute. I should be dragging you out of here by your broken arms for starting a fight like that. Youâre obviously lost.â She says, her voice low and warm like strong whiskey.Â
âIâm not lost. Iâm exactly where Iâm supposed to be. Donât act like you didnât enjoy watching that fight. I put on a show just for you.â You tease, batting your eyelashes and looking up at her as she stalks forward.Â
âWhere are you from?âÂ
âDoes it really matter? I will only be here for a few short nights. Why waste the time we have together with complications?â You say, trying to remind the woman that you were not permanent and that if she wanted you, she needed to stop asking questions that had complex answers. You look up at her with the heat of a thousand suns blazing in your eyes.Â
âIt does matter. I need to know what kind of trouble Iâll be in for fucking the daughter of whatever kind of councilmember or politician your Daddy is.â She says, taking a hit of her blunt as she sits down on the bed. âPlus, I can hear your accent. Youâre not as good at hiding it as you think you are. Piltovan is clearly not your first language.â Her legs were spread wide, commanding the space around her and leaving no room for you. Until you answer her question.Â
The Noxian accent was a subtle thing, but hard to rid yourself of. The Medarda family specifically managed to maintain some of their Shuriman roots woven into the accent they all shared. How Mel managed rid herself of it, you never understood, but years of training under your motherâs tutelage gave you her accent, in addition to your combat skills. Va-Nox is a harsh language; Piltovan is so unnatural to your hardened tongue.
You sigh. âI am from Noxus. Here on business.â You explain. Sevika whistles.Â
âNoxusâŚDamn, youâre far from home, huh? That wasn't hard, though, was it, sweetheart?â She says, moving closer to you with a heavy gait that draws your eye to the V-shape of her pelvis, and the trail of hair that teases you.
âI donât normally share such information. But it seems youâve enchanted me. I only came into this shitty bar for you, ya know.â You admit, the drink is catching up to you for a moment and bolstering your courage.Â
The woman snorts.Â
âIs that so? Whatâs your name?âÂ
You shouldnât. Giving her your first name could lead this one-night stand into dangerous territory. This place was dangerous. There were criminals at every corner, and despite no major dealings coming to mindâsurely someone would know of your family here. You could easily become a target within momentsâŚbut you want to trust her.Â
âLiya. Whatâs yours?âÂ
âSevikaâŚNice to meet you.â She says, walking forward, and gripping your chin in a rough hold before she tilts you to look up. She leans down and presses a dominating, lush kiss to your lips that makes you moan.Â
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
Her lips feel so good against yours, so plump and demanding. She tastes of tobacco, the liquor sheâd sipped on during her game, and the curious, bitter berry taste of her lipstick. There is something earthy and addictive beneath it all that makes you weak in the knees, and euphoria sails through you as she leans down to pick you up.Â
âCan I touch you, baby?â She whispers into your mouth between wet kisses. You moan into another kiss and nod.Â
âPlease.â You whisper, reaching to unbuckle the thick belt wrapped around her criminally defined waist. Her flesh hand stops you, and at the immediate indignant sigh, she shushes you with her plump lips.Â
âStop that sweet thing, Iâll take care of you. I just need to know what you want before you start stripping me.â Sevika says with a smirk. She looks you up and down one good time before throwing you onto the bed with just enough roughness. When you bounce too far away, she grabs you by the leg and hauls you closerâyou glide easily on the surprise silk sheets in her bed. A squeal almost escapes you, but you force yourself to giggle instead and let your legs fall open.Â
âI want you to drive me to insanity. Fuck me until I canât think, SevikaâIâve been thinking about it since the moment I laid my eyes on you.â You admit in a whisper, arching your back into her touch as her large hands caress your torsoâstopping to play with your waist beadâand trail back up to undo your top.Â
You let her unzip you and watch with glee as her grey eyes darken with lust at the sight of your lace-covered body. Itâs a treat to yourself, wearing such frivolous things beneath your fighting gear. Something so pretty, with a high chance of being stained with blood.Â
âYouâre divine.â She murmurs, a low chuckle falling from her lips. âI should have known youâd be dressed up for me. No way a rich girl like you wouldnât.â She says, pressing soft kisses down from your lips to your chest, stopping to swirl her tongue around your nipple. A soft moan spills from your lips as Sevika flicks it with her tongue, sucking it into her mouthâdriving you crazy.Â
She moves her thick thigh between your legs as she plays, giving you some sort of friction. Her touch makes you melt, and you tug at her pants again, this time grinding up against the woman in a desperate bid for her touch.Â
Your eagerness brings a satisfied smirk to her face, and she releases your nipple with a pop before trailing back up to taste your lips. Her kisses are making you dizzy with desire, and the wetness threatening to paint Sevikaâs leg feels like the best torture.
âI can feel how wet you are, baby. Can I taste?â She questions against your lips, her flesh hand reaching down to swirl between your slick folds over your soaked panties, circling your clit with precision. A soft moan escapes your lips.Â
âPlease.â You whisper, your legs shaking as she presses a kiss to your neck and slowly reaches under the band of your lacy panties to play with your wetness. Youâre so pent up and ready, she does not hesitate to insert a thick finger. Your back arches as she fills you perfectly, pumping it inside you with gentle concentration, swirling and thrusting in perfect combination to warm you up.Â
Her lips trail from your open lips, down to your neck, your chest, further and further down until she reaches the shaved curls between your thighs. With ease, Sevika lifts your legs up onto her shoulders.Â
She groans as she comes closer to your soaking pussy. The scent of your arousal makes her lick her lips. They kiss the insides of your thighs, trailing up until she presses a sweet kiss to your lower lips.Â
âYou smell delicious. Thank you for this baby, I canât wait to hear you scream.â She says, her words acting almost like a promise, before she removes her finger and licks up your cuntâmoaning as your juices spill onto her tongue. She does not hesitate to drive you insane, moving between sucking your clit into her mouth and dipping her tongue into your wet heat.Â
When it becomes clear youâre more pent up than she initially thought, Sevika dips her middle finger and ring finger back inside, with a sinful wet sound that makes you both groan. The moment she curls her fingers to press up against the perfect spot, you let out a delirious moan.
It would be embarrassing if you couldnât feel the bass of the music vibrating the floorboards of this room, muffling the sounds of your ecstasy. No one can hear you, except her. And it is clear by the wild look in her eyes, Sevika enjoys every tortured whimper and moan falling from your lips as she fucks her fingers deeper inside you. They stretch you perfectly.Â
âSevikaaa, feels so good.â You moan deliriously, hands reaching down to grip her dark hair. Youâre not kidding, itâs been a while since youâve taken a lover and her thick fingers are satisfying parts of you forgotten to the stress of life. But just as you imagined when seeing her first on the stoop of this bar, sheâs taking you to placesâbreaking you apartâin the best of ways.Â
She simply grunts at your words, but you see the slight satisfaction at your praise. You can feel it pressed against you skin. She increases the pressure of her thrusts and releases your clit with a pop that makes your cunt squeeze around her fingers.
âYou filthy girl, I felt that. You love watching me get dirty for you, donât you? Fuck youâre so pretty.â Sevika murmurs, pausing from her tasting to watch you squirm. Her fingers curl again, siphoning a sweet moan from your lips.Â
âYes. More âvika, please.â You whine, eyes rolling to the back of your head as she pounds into your G-spot.Â
Her thick fingers are sending you headfirst into an orgasm that is likely to kill you, based on the fierce pleasure climbing up your spine. You canât hear or see a damn thing; your legs are shakingâ thereâs nothing but Sevika. The steady thrusts that hit the right spot every time, the sudden return of her tongue thrashing against your clit. You would happily let this be the last thing you feel.Â
As the fluttering begins, a throaty moan rips from your lips in a higher pitch than youâd ever heard from yourself. With any other lover, the sound would have pulled you from the fantasy instantly, but itâs easy to give yourself over to Sevika.
 You writhe in ecstasy, tears streaming down your cheeks as Sevika hums in satisfaction. You grip Sevikaâs hair tightly in your hands as you cum so hard your vision blacks out. Stars flash across your vision.Â
She is ruthless, working you through it with brutal precisionâitâs like she knows your body better than you do. Her strong metal arm holds your hips down as you squirm and buck against the pleasure.Â
Even after your orgasm subsides, she works and works, finally letting your clit free from her hot mouth but still pumping her fingers. She reaches up to press a messy kiss to your lips.Â
Tasting yourself, while still tasting Sevikaâs lips, is heaven. You whimper into her mouth when she has the nerve to add another finger, but itâs like she can read your mind. You still need more; without words, she has managed to fulfill your every desire. Â
She works you through another harsh orgasm before easing out of you. The feeling of emptiness makes you whimper as your legs fall apart to let her free. She presses a kiss to your lower tummy, right below the beads other lovers ignored, and rubs her flesh hand sweetly against your skin.Â
âYou did such a good job, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me.â Sevika murmurs, looking up at you with an odd mixture of gratitude and amusement. It makes you tremble even worse before you pull yourself together.Â
âThank youâŚI donât know if Iâve ever been fucked like that.â You admit with a slight heating of your cheeks. Sevika chuckles at your shyness.Â
âNobody does it like me, baby. But youâŚyou brought something out of me. I think that fightâas reckless as it wasâgot me hotâŚWhereâd you learn to fight like that?â She questions, plopping back down on the bed as if she didnât just eat you out so well you saw stars. She reaches onto the bedside table and pulls out a case of what looks to be a handful of pre-rolled blunts. Â
âIâbefore we make pleasantriesâŚwould you like me to do anything for you? Iâm quite good with my hands.â You promise, reaching for her and moving your lithe body with the intent to seduce. But Sevika quickly and gently shoots you down with a shy smile that reveals an adorable gap between her front teeth. The urge to kiss her again becomes almost unbearable, but you compose yourself.Â
âThanks, honey, but Iâm good for now. I uhâŚI was satisfied by pleasing you. I promise.â She says, an underlying meaning to her words that lets you know thereâs more to the story. The slight embarrassment on her face is adorable.Â
âHow exactly does that work when I have vivid memories of your flesh fingers inside meâŚyou have a thing for metal?â You tease, voice still husky from overuse.
âNo doll, I had a backup plan.â She says with a chuckle, pulling up a pillow with a visible wet spot from the floor before settling up against the headboard and popping the blunt in her mouth.Â
Before she can light it herself, you take the initiative, taking the ornate lighter from her hands and gracefully bringing the flame to the end. The burning scent of the flower lulls you into giving in to the need for rest. After such a thorough fucking, getting a little high sounds perfect.Â
She opens her arm, motioning for you to come closer.Â
âCâmereâyou want some of this?â She says after exhaling a large puff of smoke. You nod and give in to the desire to be close to her again. Curling up into her side is easy, and the way she wraps around youâthe perfect mix of strength and warmthâmakes tears burn in your eyes for a reason you do not want to unpack right now. She holds the blunt to your lips and lets you take a nice, long hit before taking one herself. âYou gonna answer my question?âÂ
ââŚIâve trained to fight since I was young. Iâm a soldierâ have been since I was a teenager. War is a family business.â You say, keeping it as vague as possible. Sevika is most likely some high-ranking criminal based on what you observed downstairs. The way she commanded the room, before you disrupted the peace. The way no one near her dared to so much as breathe until she made a move. Surely she had enough wherewithal to connect some dots if given too much information.
And who knows how this sweet interaction could switch in the drop of a hat. The feeling of Sevikaâs strong arm draped over your waist is something you could get used to. But it is also a reminder that she could take you down by the merit of that metal arm if needed.Â
âI see, so thatâs why these are here.â She comments, tracing her flesh hand down the scars on your arms and back. She seems to sense your unease as she dips closer to the runes on your back. The touch moves away.Â
âThose came before the warâŚbut they feed it to this day.âÂ
âWhat do they mean?âÂ
âI have no idea. But I plan to find outâŚI suspect you might be able to help me with that. Do you have any associates who would know such a language?â You question, tipping your head to look up at her.Â
âI could make some calls, ask aroundâŚbut Iâve got a life, princess. I canât go dropping everything to help some pretty damsel with her tragic backstory.âÂ
âAs you clearly saw, I am no damsel. I only need a name.â You say, lifting your head from her chest to look down at her. As your eyes meet, you deftly steal the blunt from her flesh hand and take a long hit. She glares at you, but the burgeoning smirk pulling at her plump lips lets you know your toying is working. âIâm sure you can afford to give me a single nameâI have no ties here. Surely I canât do much damage.â You say, batting your eyes. Â
Sevika snatches the blunt back with a playful smirk. âYou took out half the bar without breaking a sweat.. As a matter of fact, with a smile on your face. I know better than to think youâre some Noxian footsoldier sweetheart.â Sevika says with a laugh of her own. ââŚwar has been my business for a while, too, I guess you could say. I can clear a room like nobodyâs business, but thereâs something intense about the way you fight. If youâre ever in need of a gigâ
A hearty laugh falls from your lips before you can stop it. The thought of you taking on the position of a bouncer at this establishment was hilarious.Â
Youâthe heir to the Medarda legacy, a deadly decorated soldier with a thriving weapons manufacturing business out of Belâzhun, the Bloodthirst Cub of Noxus, working as a bouncer. Not only that, but a bouncer in some bar in the Undercity of Piltover.Â
You quickly attempt to assuage any offense incited by the flippant laughter. âI apologize. I did not mean to lose control of myself. I justâŚcannot see myself doing such a thing. No offense. I have quite a busy schedule while Iâm in townâŚbut Iâm sure I can think of other ways to coax the information out of you.â You whisper, lips trailing over Sevikaâs neck, leaving behind hints of your honey lip balm.
âď¸ âď¸ âď¸
She surrenders to your touch for the next few minutes, allowing you to peruse and caress her strong body. It makes you giddy to be atop her, given the chance to explore and give back to herâif only for a few brief moments. Before long, you both sense that your time has come to an end.
Sevika must return to work at some point; the night only grows more dangerous. And you must leave before Mel suspects something. Leaving to do reconnaissance was one thing, but drawing attention to yourself on your first real day in this city was shameful. With one last long, tempting kiss, you part ways.Â
And as you slip out of the Last Drop, a scrap of paper is deposited into your pocket. A name and an address for one Madam Margot scrawled in elegant, bold cursive. She was an apparent secret liaison of a popular Piltovian merchant who may hold the answers you seek. A solid start to your revenge journey.Â
AN: The last chapter flopped on here, but I'm not surprised, lmao. We've finally met Sevika! And there's a small Vi cameo, which was fun to write. It made sense for her to be running around and bumping into us before the plot starts to thicken. I'm rusty at writing and editing smut, so I hope it was good. Also there is a masterlist for this fic now, check that out if you've missed any chapters or want to re-read. See you soon for the next chapter âĄ