Chapter Text
Sunday October 3 (mentally), but October 4 (literally)
1:46 a.m.
It’s way too late (or too early) to be texting anyone. You know how it would look if you did, especially since it’s not urgent and you don't want to look desperate.
But still.
Silco told you to let him know what Allie thought of Shimmer.
You haven’t put his number in your phone yet. You’d thought it was best to keep the fact that you had Silco’s business card on the down low, especially after Allie polished off the third drink. Given her track record for the day, there had been a definite possibility of her stealing your phone and drunk texting Silco for you.
That was an uncomfortable situation you wanted to avoid at all costs.
You’d only felt it was safe to bring it out of your pocket because she’d finally passed out on the couch. Her snores are rumbling like tiny thunderstorms as you flex the card between your fingers. The card design is minimalist to a painful degree. There isn't even a name on it. The stock is matte black on both sides, but the lights from the headless horseman and the coffee table full of candles are flickering off the lacquered numbers.
You’ve assumed it’s his personal cell, but it could be the number to his office.
Only one way to find out.
A little sleuthing on the ZCC, Last Drip, and Last Drop websites confirms that the numbers listed don’t match the number on the card. On a whim you Google “Silco Zaun” . Nothing comes up except for an article on the ZCC board of directors.
“Zaun business mogul Silco takes over as Head of The Board of Directors after the previous head is forced into early retirement…”
Several other articles appear without giving you any new information. Silco’s last name is never listed in the articles, which seems odd. Come to think of it, you aren’t sure the ZCC magazine mentioned his last name either.
It’s just Silco.
And yet, he has to have a last name.
Jinx’s comment about him being ex-military comes to mind, and you type in “Silco military” , hoping to get a hit since there can't be a lot of men out there named Silco. Nothing shows up immediately, so you take a new tack. If Silco and Sevika were in military service together, then maybe you could get a hit by looking up Sevika. Her name's pretty rare name too.
You grin as you get a hit.
Lieutenant Sevika Amirah Vann, enlisted 1999, honorably discharged in 2003 due to serious sustained injuries. Her military record mentions a unit name, “Hounds of the Underground” .
That’s where you find the first mention of First Lieutenant Silco J. Spisak.
You hurriedly move over to images and type in the name.
A fresh, young Silco appears on the screen, staring up at you with two perfect ice chip eyes. He’s wearing an officer’s uniform, face serious as all military ID photos seem to be, but the quirk at the corner of his mouth is still there, even without the scars. In fact, he’s shockingly similar to the man you know today except for the graying hair, and the blackened skin that rims his mutilated eye.
When you’re finally finished staring at him, you search his military records. He enlisted in 1994 already an officer, but like Sevika, he was honorably discharged due to injuries sustained on duty in 2003. Most of the others in their unit weren't so lucky.
Major JB Vander, deceased.
Second Lieutenant Frederick Benzo, deceased.
Private Roger Claggor, deceased.
Only one is still listed as alive, the unit medic, Sergeant Brett Billingsworth. There are no mentions of what happened to him after 2003, not even the mention of a discharge, honorable or otherwise.
More searching reveals that there are no more public records of Silco after 2003, so you can only imagine how Jinx got mixed up into his life. There’s probably some way to find that out, but her adoption is a rabbit trail for another night. You got what you came for: confirmation that the number he gave you is not linked to an office. It could be a home number, but it’s most likely his cell. He does always seem to be everywhere, all at once. It’s an easy enough theory to test out, anyway. All you have to do is send a text, and if it goes through you’ve got your answer.
As you input his name into your phone, you can’t help wondering what the J stands for.
Silco J. Spisak.
It’s nice to know that he has a last name. It makes him feel a little less like a Bond villain.
There’s an option to add a photo when you save the number, and as embarrassing as it is to admit, you’ve got a picture of him saved in your camera roll. One of your new coworkers had a ZCC pamphlet in the break room on Saturday, and during a moment of weakness you’d snapped a picture of his portrait.
Well it’s not like he’ll ever see it.
You scroll through to upload, then spend a few moments staring at it.
His expression is not unlike the one in his enlisted photo, yet there’s a fire lingering behind his eyes. While young Silco radiated arrogance, older Silco is a bit more…
Sexy?
No, dangerous.
Is there really a difference?
You hurriedly hit save and shove the phone into your pocket.
You probably shouldn't text him. It's late, and you're definitely not in your right state of mind.
A loud thunk draws your attention across the room, where Allie’s shifting around in her sleep. Her phone fell out of her pocket and onto the hardwood floor. You heave yourself to your feet and shuffle over to grab it, and it lights up with a notification as you’re about to set it on the table.
“Message from Mark’s Ass”
You snort.
She’d only been on her second drink when she’d changed Marcus’ name in her phone (yet another good reason why you didn’t let her know you had Silco’s number). Then she’d sent him a gushy text outlining how wonderful the flowers were and how she would think of him every time she smelled them.
But that was hours ago, and apparently he’d only just gotten around to answering her message.
That’s strike two Mark’s Ass.
His last chance to prove himself will be Saturday, unless he stalks you and traps you into another awkward grocery store conversation between now and next weekend.
You sincerely hope not.
You’re horribly tempted to open the message and read it, but contrary to what you’d led Silco to believe, you’re not that petty. Your sister could be a real pain in the butt sometimes, but at least she’s a pain in the butt who loves you and just wants the best for you. Her affection often comes out in strange and unhelpful ways, but still, the heart is always there.
With a shake of your head you blow out the candles and take all your unwashed dishes to the sink. Your phone weighs heavily in your pocket.
Just send the text. It's not a big deal. If it goes through, he’s probably not going to be awake to see it anyway.
The phone is in your hand before you can think. The message is short, letting him know it’s you and thanking him again for the bottle. When it sends, you wait a few minutes. You don’t get anything back telling you the action is not supported.
You’re only just considering whether to compose the second message when the first gets marked as read.
You gape like a fish when the text bubble appears.
“You’re up late.”
“I could say the same for you.”
This reply doesn't get marked as read. After a minute or two of anxious pacing you decide that you might as well do the dishes. There’s no way you’re going to be able to settle into bed while your heart’s beating like a wild bird in a cage.
You’re in the middle of scrubbing a particularly stubborn piece of food from a fork when you get the next notification.
“I have a perfectly valid reason. I was finalizing a deal with the owner of the new restaurant in The Fissures.”
“Okay, sounds legit. You get a pass.”
You briefly consider garnishing the text with a saluting emoji, but chicken out at the last second. Somehow you don’t think he’ll appreciate that kind of thing. Also, should you even include emojis when you’re texting your boss? Despite the fact that you initiated this communication, you’re not exactly sure what the protocol is for this kind of situation. It seems strange to have a casual conversation with him during a normal time of day, let alone at the very unprofessional hour of…
2:01am.
Is it already that late?
His next message only adds to your sudden onset of anxiety.
“I don’t suppose you have an excuse? I know you’re scheduled to open in the morning.”
He knows you're going to open? Why does he know you're going to open?
It’s difficult to read the tone of his message. Is it patronizing? Is it factual? Is it flirtatious?
You somehow doubt it’s the last one - He has compared you to his 17 year old daughter on several occasions - But your poor, addled mind can always hope.
“I absolutely do not. But if you’d answered me in the morning like I expected (and like any normal person would have), I probably would have had a really good one lined up for you.”
Without an emoji the text sounds completely accusatory, but it’s too late now.
You violently scrub your way through two crusty pots before he responds.
“My apologies."
Yep, now you’ve done it. Now he thinks you’re calling him out, just like you did in the Trader Joe's parking lot.
You’ve got a soapy knife clutched in your hand as you rush to send a reply.
"No need to apologize! I should have gone to bed hours ago."
This time you add in an emoji. The awkward laugh, you're tried and true go-to.
"Texting is not my usual form of communication. I prefer phone calls.”
“Well you’re really missing out. Texting is great because it changes what should be a simple one minute conversation into one that lasts at least an hour and a half.”
“That sounds infuriating.”
“It can be fun, depending on who you’re texting with.”
You're not exactly sure what happens next. It’s almost as if your hand get's possessed by the spirit of your drunken sister while she sleeps, and in less time than it takes to blink you’ve searched for and sent an upside down happy face emoji.
You experience a moment of pure panic.
That makes you appear way more flirtatious than you were intending.
The time between this text and the next is so long you have time to dry all the dishes after you finish them, wipe down the stove top, and think about the one time in junior high you tripped and fell flat on your face in front of the entire boys’ basketball team.
This text conversation feels a thousand times worse than that.
You toss a handful of dirty paper towels in the trash and admit to yourself that this was probably a doomed conversation from the start. Aside from the fact it’s 2am, Silco is, after all, in his forties. Texting is bound to be out of his wheelhouse. Heck, guys your own age can hardly be relied on to hold a decent text conversation these days, so why would he?
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
“You should! I have a lot of experience with these things :)”
Well, now it sounds like you text men at 2am all the time.
Idiot!
Maybe texting is outside your wheelhouse too.
You hurry to end this horrible conversation before you make it any worse.
“And on that note I should probably get to the point because as you said, I do work in the morning! I just wanted to let you know that I’m going to text you the notes about Shimmer tomorrow.”
“That would be appreciated.”
“Okay cool. Good night!”
You don’t get an answer to that. When you at last drag yourself to bed you feel so emotionally exhausted you can hardly keep your eyes open. Yet somehow you still manage to find the time for an existential crisis before you fall into a restless sleep.
OCTOBER 5, 10a.m.
Your day is not going very well. No, not at all.
The coworker at the register, Amber, is new, and can’t seem to take orders properly to save her life. The sheer number of drinks you've had to remake is off the charts. You're struggling not to be in a foul mood, and the customers aren't struggling at all. It’s only when you finally sit down on your thirty in the back that you feel it’s safe to put your head in your hands and release a full bodied sigh.
You close your eyes, and for some time you simply embrace the silence.
But it’s not long before Sevika storms in to karate chop your tentative grasp on serenity.
“In my office, now.”
You drag your feet, dread following you all the way up the stairs.
Did Silco tell her you texted him last night? He must have, and now Sevika’s going to fire you and it's all that stupid emoji's fault.
The urge to squirm when you sit down across the desk from her is intense. For several moments she simply stares at you while drumming her fingers on the desk.
“I’m going to kill him,” She spits out at last.
“Kill who?” You squeak.
“Chuck. Do you know what that idiot did with the books? He pissed on them. The amount of overtime I’m going to have to log to clean up his mess is fucking ridiculous.”
You can't help it. You slump forward in relief.
This has nothing to do with you.
“I’m going to need to push your training forward. You got a computer that can handle a floppy disk? No? What a fucking surprise. My office at The Last Drop has one. You got time this week to go over and knock out those videos?”
“Sure, when-”
She cuts you off. “I’m not going to be there at all this week so how about you just clock in whenever you’re there and I’ll approve the hours. There’s about 8 hours worth of videos, so do whatever you gotta do to watch ‘em. At the end there will be a 50 question quiz that only an idiot like Chuck would fail, so as long as you don’t be like Chuck, you’ll do fine. When you finish the test I’ll also need a printed version of the certificate for my files because our training system is fucking antiquated.”
She digs around in her pocket and presses a key in your hand. “That’s for the office, and the floppy disks are in one of the cabinets. Lose that key and we’re both screwed.”
“Don’t worry, nobody’s getting screwed on my watch.”
It’s only after you say it that you realize how it sounds.
“Er, I mean, we will not be screwed in the sense that Silco will not need to screw you or I… oh wow, that’s so much worse. The important thing is that I won’t lose the key.”
You don’t even have the energy to feel embarrassed when Sevika pulls a whiskey from under her desk with a husky chuckle. “You’re hilarious sometimes, you know that?”
"Yeah, well I was thinking of quitting to become a full time clown so...”
The joke isn’t that funny, but her laugh is so loud you almost jump out of your seat.
You begin to wonder if maybe the whiskey bottle’s half empty because Sevika already drank some of it this morning.
“I knew you were one of the good ones when I hired you,” She takes a few drinks. “I’m pretty shit at it most of the time, but with you I did alright.”
“Thanks, I guess.”
She swings her boots up and crosses them heavily on the desk. “At least I’ll be out of here soon, and then I’ll get to watch you make your own shitty hiring decisions.”
“Just one more thing for me to look forward to.”
When she grins, she reminds you of the wolf who ate little red riding hood’s grandmother. “Just you wait until you have to sit in front of Silco and explain why the profits keep dipping. It doesn’t matter whose fault it actually is, you’re the one who has to take one for the team.”
“Oh don’t worry, I’m used to that. If there’s one thing I learned from corporate Piltover, it’s how to take a punch.”
She grunts. “At least you didn’t have the government breathing down your neck. I couldn’t itch my ass crack without someone asking me to write a report about it.”
You lean back, hoping your voice stays casual. “Government? What did you do before you came to The Last Drip?”
“Military, then private contracting. Real Jack Ryan type shit.”
“What made you come work here? I never would have pegged you as wanting to be a manager of a coffee shop.”
“Neither would I, not in a million years. But Silco made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“So you followed Silco here?”
“What can I say? The man knows how to be persuasive.”
You give her a moment to drink a little more before you continue.
“So you and he worked together? Before?”
“We met in the army, then when it got too hot for us there we went into private contracting. Did that for a few years, until this --" She points to the arm -- "and he picked up the kid. That's when he decided it was time to retire from the violent life. I owe him a lot, and he’s treated me better than any of those government goons ever did.”
She flexes her prosthesis, a frown on her face.
“I loved being in the fight, but after a few years of being boots down in every hot spot in the world, even I can admit that heading into retirement with most of my limbs still intact is appealing. So here I am. A completely domesticated civie, living a life of ease.”
“You? Domesticated? Never.”
She grins. “Damn straight. But enough shooting the shit. You better get back downstairs before the new girl burns the place down.”
"Yeah." You release a sigh as you stand, but you only make it as far as the door before you turn around. “Oh! Before I forget. I'm going to text you and Silco this afternoon about Shimmer.”
She frowns. “Why?”
“Well I ran into him yesterday and he told me that you were looking for beta tasters to compare Shimmer batches. He gave me a bottle and asked me to let him know what my sister thought about it.”
“Did he?” She asks.
She’s eyeing you with an unabashed curiosity that makes you incredibly nervous.
“You can feel free to ignore it, if it's not what you're looking for.”
“I will. Silco’s the one who will make the final decisions for Shimmer anyway. Let me just give you his number.”
“Oh! I uh… I already have it.”
She looks less surprised than you thought she’d be. In fact, her smile seems to be growing.
It’s kind of freaking you out.
You start backing away. “Okay well uh... talk to you later?”
“You bet your ass I will.”
You’ve only just rounded the corner when you hear her chuckle. “That sneaky son of a bitch.”
You have no idea what to make of that.