Chapter Text
It’s 3 am, and the Undercity is still bursting with light and sound. It’s mostly because you’re downtown - specifically, standing guard outside The Last Drop. It isn’t luxurious work. In fact, compared to the jobs you’d been on the past few weeks, it’s downright shameful. In the span of three days you’ve gone from watching Shimmer shipments with Sevika to patrol duty.
“It’s because of those Firelights,” Says one coworker. He kicks some dirt, staring at the ground through the barrel of his gun. “Slowing down shipments. You got replaced.”
“Don’t remind me how Jinx will do it. I didn’t get replaced - I’m new, he took a risk, it didn’t work. Simple.”
“Like that little freak’ll do any better.”
“Shut up.” You snap. “She’s a kid. Nineteen. Younger than you asswipes.”
And just in time to hear is Sevika, who almost cracks a smile as she walks into the bar. As she walks by, she leans over your shoulder, whispers, “Silco wants you. Be in in fifteen,” and continues on. As if nothing happened. As if, given the state of Shimmer shipments under your watch, you aren’t completely fucking dead.
The grunt laughs. “You went and fucked up good if boss wants to see you.”
“Oh, shut up! You do better than I did with those Firelights on you. They know how to use those damned boards. I swear.”
You pick up your gun from where you’d been cleaning it a moment before and stand. Silco wants to speak to you. If it’s anything like the last time, you’re ninety percent sure this time he’s going to have Sevika cut off your head.
Last time, Sevika had taken the care to assure you Silco wasn’t angry. And he wasn’t. Or if he was, he didn’t show it, but Silco is usually the type to make it clear if he’s upset. As you walk through the somehow still rowdy bar towards his office, you recall the one time you saw him beat someone with a cane.
But sure. You’d be fine. Probably.
You walk through to a slim hallway - only big enough for one person, or two, if you’re both skinny. There’s a bench pressed against the wall, which you sit on, but within two minutes you find you’re too anxious to sit still and stand again. Then comes the pacing, and the scratching at your arms and face. The scars are embarrassing but the feeling of stillness is worse, and the pain of your nails digging into your skin brings your senses to a sharp focus.
Five minutes pass. Then ten. By the time fifteen have passed you’ve managed to scratch actual cuts into your arms and pull the bandages you always keep on you for just this to wrap your arms, and by twenty minutes Silco has called you back into his office.
He looks you up and down once, then looks to the chair. You sit.
“You’ve been scratching.” He says.
You look down at your arms. The blood has seeped through the bandages, staining your shirt. Damn. That one was new.
You say nothing. Silco sighs and leans back into his chair.
“I’m sorry about the shimmer,” you say, and you cannot bear to look at whatever face he’s making, “The lost shipments to the firelights. I, uh, assume this is about that-“
“No. Sevika was in charge of that. I don’t hold you responsible.” He takes a breath from his cigar, and as usual, it smells god awful. How Jinx can spend so long in here is beyond you, because the smell must have seeped into the walls and table by now.
“Ah. I see. Then, uh.. Why did you want to speak to me?”
Silco sits up straight again. You appreciate that he always leans back to smoke, never blowing that god awful cigar anywhere near you.
“You like street food, don’t you?”
“Uh.. I think everyone does. Anyone specific?”
“The fishmonger.”
“Oh. Yeah. With the bugs. Yeah. Who told you?”
“Sevika. Meet me at the bar after your shift tomorrow. Seven o’clock.”
You clear your throat. What the hell?
“For.. business, sir?”
“For pleasure. You will meet me, won’t you?”
It’s Silco, so you get the distinct feeling there’s some kind of threat behind his words. Silco doesn’t do pleasure. The Industrialist of Zaun, indulging in simple wants. Human things.
No. God no. But you can’t say no, either.
“Of course, sir.”