Chapter Text
When his sire had died, leaving him to inherit the Last Drop, Silco had figured it wouldn't be that big a change. He was already involved in the business, albeit on the more shadowy side of things, but he was just as capable of pouring drinks or frothing milk. How hard could it be, really, to own a business that was a cafe by day, bar by night?
Very, as it turned out, and for incredibly tedious reasons.
Paperwork. Taxes. Forms. The fact he was the last resort against the most exasperating customers. Suppliers and their bullshit. Discrimination. Difficulty keeping staff around...
He sighs, dropping his ledger on the cluttered desk. If he could get his hands on a ritual that would revive Kory, Silco would cast it in a heartbeat, even if he had to personally sacrifice a few innocent souls for it. He would go as far as to apologize to his sire for ever giving him a hard time. Anything to get the man back behind the wheel of the Last Drop and give Silco his freedom back.
Hunger pinches his stomach, flutters behind his ribs. The Lanes have been tense since the unrest stirred up in Piltover, and he has refrained from feeding. It hasn't helped with his mood, and his mood has not helped Vander's, which means it's affecting everyone. It's a delicate ecosystem in the Last Drop and Silco knows he can't wait much longer, or risk upsetting it.
As if on cue, a roar erupts from downstairs and he sighs. The hammering of Powder's feet running up the stairs to his office heralds her arrival.
'Dad!' she exclaims as she barges into the room. 'Sevika's gonna kill someone!'
'Will she, really?' he asks her wearily. 'Do they deserve it?'
Maybe they do, whoever they are, stupid enough to rile her up, and Silco doesn't need to deal with them himself. Sevika's more than capable of cleaning her own messes.
Powder cocks her head, blue hair spilling haphazardly. Her fringe is a sight, Silco thinks as he brushes it aside. Last time he lets Vi cut it.
'It's an enforcer though?' she says.
Silco snaps to a whole new level of awareness. He takes one sharp breath and launches himself out of his chair, Powder on his heels as he barrels down the stairs, only taking a second to compose himself before pushing the door to the main room.
'—need to get the fuck out of my face,' Sevika is growling, said face pressed so close to the enforcer's they may as well be kissing.
The man doesn't seem interested in stepping back, his jaw clenched, his jugular veins protruding obscenely. Sevika looks high strung enough to rip it out herself, and wouldn't that be a mess. Silco probably wouldn't be able to help himself if that much blood sprayed into the air.
'What's happening here?' he snaps.
Vander turns to him and he immediately understands. There's a large brown stain down his white shirt. A whole cup of coffee's worth. Powder runs up to him, hugging his leg.
'He came asking some questions. Was a bit rude if you ask me,' Vander says. He cleans his hands on a rag before patting Powder's head and gesturing to the group in the centre of the room. 'I was about to make my point but Sevika... stepped up.'
Silco's lips twitch. Hunger curls cold fingers into his guts and his cravat seems to strangle him.
Questions, yes. 'Have you seen this young man?' always accompanied by a picture of Viktor still in his academy uniform, wan and sickly—starved for blood. Everyone in the Undercity has been asked, multiple times. Piltover simply can't take no for an answer. Not from them.
'Sevika, that'll be enough,' Silco calls out. 'We're just a cafe, in the middle of our trading hours,' he continues, addressing the enforcer, tone cheerful and hopefully placating. 'We don't want any trouble.'
He walks up to them, ignoring the masked goons and focusing on the man mashed nose to nose with Sevika. He recognises him from a previous visit, when he was on the heels of his much more reasonable superior.
'Marcus, what can we do for you today?' Silco asks him.
'You can give me the man I've been tearing through your shit city for,' the man growls.
Sevika snorts in his face and turns away. She gives Silco a look before coming to loom behind his shoulder. Marcus' men rally behind him in a similar stance, completing this little face-off.
'I can't give you what I don't have,' Silco says with a tired smile, voice low. 'Zaun might not be to your taste, but it's our home, and we're just making an honest living.'
Marcus lets out a strangled laugh like it physically pains him to find anything Silco says funny. 'Honest? You? Look at you!'
Silco can't. He's never been able to—it's part of the curse. As a Darkin Child he has no reflection in mirrors. He's seen photographs of himself though; he knows he's lanky, with pallid skin, a sharp angular nose, thin lips, mismatched eyes and an ugly scar marring half his face. Not a pretty picture, if you fancy conventional beauty. Certainly not a face to inspire confidence.
'Look at you all!' Marcus exclaims, pointing his baton to Vander. 'A werewolf? A Darkeling. And her,' he spits in Sevika's direction, 'what is she? A fucking fairy?'
Silco snorts, waits a beat to see if Sevika will stay put or strike to kill. 'You don't want to know,' he tells Marcus when the blow doesn't come. 'Just don't provoke her too often, I'm not always in my office.'
'No, I bet. Out there lurking for victims, aren't you?' Marcus snarls, waving his baton about. 'I can't believe we let you people live down here.'
The people in question shift, more stand up. Fingers are curled in fists, chairs pushed aside.
Silco takes a step forward, predatory instincts quickening, voice turning chilly. 'As you said. It's a shit city. Viktor could be anywhere in it. He just isn't here.'
'Sure. Every coin that passes here is stolen and every other one of you a monster in human skin! I know you're covering for your kind. No one else would. We'll find him; you can't hide him forever.'
And with such ominously prophetic words the man walks away, shoulders tense, his men brusquely pushing people on their way out the door. All eyes turn to Silco as he stands in the centre of the room, gripping the edge of a table to anchor himself, to resist the temptation of exposed backs walking away from him, bare throats flaunted so carelessly.
'Come on, sir.' Sevika is pulling on his elbow.
'Everyone gets a free coffee for their trouble,' Vander declares.
People grumble, but Zaun is a shit city, where nobody with half a brain says no to a freebie. Sevika pushes Silco into the corridor and closes the bar's door behind them, Powder squirrelling her way between her legs.
'Where is your sister?' Sevika asks her.
'With Mylo and Claggor, they're visiting Little Man.'
'And you aren't?' Silco asks, huffing around the persistent pain in his chest.
She shrugs. 'Vander was showing me how to froth milk. I stayed to help.'
'That's nice, Powpow. Can you go help him again? He'll need someone to look after the bar so he can get changed.'
Powder doesn't wait to be asked a second time. Ever since they adopted her and the other children, she's always had this need to prove herself useful. Like they might drop her back at the orphanage if she didn't pull her weight. Vander is trying to teach her things so she can help out around the Drop, give her that feeling she's chasing. Silco wishes she'd relax enough to just be loved.
They've got time though, to help Powder. Viktor is a different matter.
'Sir, if that human had come last week—'
'Vander would have torn him in half, I know.'
'You need to feed.'
'I'm eating.'
'Don't fuck with me—sir. Respectfully. You need to get some blood in you before you're the one snapping.'
'That's very fresh, coming from you just now,' Silco hisses. 'What were you thinking, getting into his face like that?'
Sevika shrugs, her mechanical arm clanking with the motion. She knows there's no heat in his words, just the snappishness of hunger.
'You were going to come down anyway. What was easier? Seeing me pushing enforcers around, or Vander?'
There's nothing worse than violence to his loved ones to tip him over the edge. Self-deprecating as she may sound, Sevika has a point. Silco appreciates her, but she isn't his husband. In such a state, if he'd seen Vander cornered by three enforcers, he might have blacked out.
Darkelings don't get to wake up from black-outs like drunks, pleasantly laid out in a dumpster, missing a jacket and wallet. They wake up in piles of gore with many extra bloody jackets and the bodies to match.
'Don't sell yourself short,' Silco says with a small laugh. 'I couldn't run this operation without you.'
'If you respect me so much, how about you listen to my advice?' Sevika needles him. 'Someone will volunteer if you need to—'
'No.' Silco pulls on the lapels of his jacket, slicks his hair back and straightens up. 'No. I'll sort myself out. Get out there and make sure this sheriff wannabe doesn't get his nose where it doesn't belong.'
Sevika has just left when Vander steps into the corridor, his shirt already half over his head.
'Oh, you're still here—' he rips the shirt all the way and Silco is left to stare at the hairy expanse of his muscular chest, which does nothing to ease his urges. 'Good, I wanted to talk to you.'
'T-talk, yes.'
Vander gives him a concerned look, heavy hand cupping his jaw. 'Are you alright?'
Silco is trapped by his husband's grey eyes, the proximity of him, the scent of so much bare skin—
'I was about to go pay our friends a visit,' he says, licking his lips and trying to take a tentative step back. Vander's grip holds him in place. 'And feed myself, before things get any worse.'
Vander smiles, lips stretching over crooked and very sharp teeth. 'Good. So I finally can have you back.'
'Yes...'
Vander pulls him into a kiss, all enveloping and a little savage, the only sort he knows how to give. Silco melts against him. Yes. He's slept alone for the past week, in fear of what he might do if he lost his cool—a guarantee when lying down next to Vander.
'You be careful. Don't be seen.'
And with these words Vander steps around him and darts up the stairs to get changed, leaving Silco to blink out of his daze.
Food—yes. And soon.