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You curse as you take stock of your appearance, noticing the dash of dark red on your shirt. You don’t mind blood; those who do rarely make it far in Zaun. Still, the smell leaves something to be desired, as does the way it always manages to stain your clothing.
Ah, well. So long as it’s not yours.
“Has it never occurred to you to wear black?” a low voice says behind you, tinged with smugness. “Or red.”
Your ensuing scoff is muffled by the heavy warehouse doors heaving open, hinges groaning as you push.
“No, but I’ll make sure to mention it to my tailor next time I book in,” you say, holding the door for Silco. “Right after I visit my personal chef, and maybe my interior designer, too. If I have time.”
“Shame you don’t get paid for your attitude,” he remarks, the flicker of amusement in his eyes standing out amid the smoggy darkness of the undercity. “You would find yourself with personal servants to spare.”
“If I got paid for my attitude,” you goad, releasing the door, “you’d be the poorest man in Zaun before midnight.”
“You would liquidate me in—” he pauses to procure a gilded pocket watch from his waistcoat, flicking it open while motioning for you to follow “—forty-two minutes?”
You fall into step beside him, an arm’s length away. “On a bad day.”
“And on a good day?”
“Before we make it back to the club.”
His lips quirk in time with the metal contraption snapping shut, and you find a smile of your own creeping on as the pair of you pass a group of children kicking around a ball in the shadows of a derelict building.
This particular zone used to be popular amongst narcotics manufacturers, but ever since shimmer appeared on the market, most of the warehouses have been bought out by Silco. Those deemed too old to use ended up being claimed by children, either as a hangout spot or a makeshift shelter.
“Speaking of the club,” you say, glancing at the kids, “I still can’t believe you made Sevika babysit.”
He hums in agreement. “She was less than thrilled.”
“She looked like she was about to wring your neck. Then mine.”
Silco is about to respond when a misplaced kick from one of the youths sends the ball rolling in your direction.
“Hey!” one of the kids – a scrappy young boy – calls out while running to retrieve it, though he stops dead in his tracks the moment his eyes land on the pair of you.
It’s hard to make anything out in the waning streetlight, but there’s two things any Zaunite can recognise from afar: enforcers, and Silco.
The boy looks as if he wants to shrink into the shadows, and a glance behind him reveals his friends have done just that.
You watch in silence as Silco raises one expectant eyebrow. To his credit, the kid stands his ground – stiff as a board, but upright all the same.
Silco smiles again; a barely-there curl of his lips toeing the lines of impressed, before the end of a gold-tipped boot taps the ball and sends it rolling back towards the boy. His disbelief only grows when Silco nods in your direction and you pull a small pouch out of your pocket, – tinged in the same red as your shirt – and toss it. He manages to catch it, eyes widening at the tell-tale clinking of coins.
You had taken it from one of the bodies left in the warehouse – a negotiation gone wrong – among other, more important items. An inconsequential sum to the Industrialist, but more than enough to keep the boy and his friends fed for a good while; provided he keeps it close and spends it wisely.
“I can’t say you’ve ever been that generous with me,” you say, smiling at the sound of scurrying footsteps and young voices swearing in disbelief when you and Silco round the corner.
He shrugs. “Zaun must foster children with backbones if she is to thrive. Gods know how many adults here are lacking in that department.”
You can’t argue with that. But you can find other ways to push his buttons.
“Weird way to say you’re secretly a big softie.”
His cheek protrudes from the prod of his tongue; an indication that he is without a rebuttal. “I hardly think there’s anything wrong with showing a touch of generosity during the festive season.”
“Oh, so you are a softie?”
“Are you forgetting the state in which I left our business partners?” he asks, head tilting just so as that infamous green and red gaze slides your way, accompanied by a smooth timbre and smoother smirk. “Ex-business partners.”
“And yet I’m the only one with blood on their clothes.”
Silco shrugs again as you make your way into the more populated streets, marked by clamouring voices and the shine of neon lights. Crowds part around you, no one daring to risk crossing paths with the Lane’s ruthless king.
If only they knew what a doting father he is.
As is standard practice, the club is closed for the festive season, in the days before the new year. Regardless, your hand doesn’t stray from the handle of your blade, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice as you near the Last Drop. The mountain of a man standing guard out front offers you both a curt nod before opening the door, and Silco immediately makes for the stairs.
“So,” you say once you reach the balcony, “care to share your festive plans?”
Silco pauses to scan over the empty club before resuming his unhurried pace. “Paperwork, I suppose. Unless another group of imbeciles needs to be taken care of.”
You tilt your head in confusion. “That wasn’t sarcasm.”
“I’m well aware. You’re far more infuriating when you’re being sarcastic.”
You roll your eyes. “Seriously? The one time of year where no one does anything, and you’re still gonna work?”
He ignores your question with one of his own as the two of you approach his office door. “And what will you be doing?”
“Well,” you say as he twists the handle, “since my gracious boss has so kindly given me the day off–”
The rest of your response dies on your tongue when the door opens to a scene that brings both you and Silco to stunned silence. You thought the warehouse had been left in quite the chaotic state, but it has nothing on the battlefield that is Silco’s office.
The floor is littered with all the items that had previously sat upon the coffee table, while the table itself lies on its side. Toys join the mix, as well as bottles, bowls, and what you hope is bits of baby food.
In the centre of it all is Sevika, looking like she might either implode from frustration or pass out from exhaustion. She’s all but vibrating with anger; a sight that would normally make you wary, were it not for the absurdity of her appearance. Her hair sticks out in a far cry from its usual tied back updo, while her face, clothing, and flesh arm are dotted with the same stains that cover the floor. A section of her metal arm emits a red light you recognise as a sign of error, and the red poncho that usually covers it is flung over the bookshelf by the wall.
You follow her deadly gaze down towards the couch until you land on Jinx. She looks even smaller than usual under the towering woman, and where Sevika is brimming with rage, Jinx is very much overflowing with glee.
The handle emits a soft click when Silco releases it, and Sevika’s gaze immediately hones in on the two of you.
You’re not doing a great job of hiding a smile, and she hones in on it immediately, eyes narrowing into slits of steely grey. She scoops up Jinx in one hand and marches over to Silco, and though you cringe at the sight of her practically splayed over the woman’s palm, the infant clearly doesn’t seem to mind.
It’s no secret that Silco has nerves of steel, but you can’t say you’re not impressed when the man doesn’t even flinch.
“Silco,” she hisses, tone cold and sharp as the blades she often wields on her prosthetic arm. “I can take a lot of shit, but I am not a babysitter.”
Sensing the woman’s mirth, Jinx lets out a joyful cackle, causing Sevika’s expression to sour further as she lets out a steady breath, evidently at her wit’s end. Jinx then pauses, eyes and mouth wide open in ogling silence. Sevika scowls at the infant; a glare that would cause anyone else’s knees to tremble, but only succeeds in setting Jinx’s laughter off once again.
“Can someone please take this baby?” she demands.
Resisting the urge to laugh is somewhat of an impossibility, but no one can say you’re not trying as you transfer Jinx into your arms. She lights up further at the familiar comfort, little hands fisting into your hair and shirt as you nuzzle your nose against her own.
“Hi, sweet girl,” you coo, dotting her cheeks with kisses. “Did you have fun with Aunty Sevi today?”
Jinx giggles and presses her hands against your face, evidently the only one pleased with the comment. You’re glad for Silco’s presence, if only to keep Sevilka from acting on the myriad of murderous thoughts that must be unfolding in her head.
“I hardly think watching an infant for a few hours is as taxing as business negotiations,” Silco comments, gaze shifting from you to Sevika when you notice him watching you.
“That’s a lot of blood for a negotiation,” Sevika remarks, eyeing the red blotch on your shirt.
“Yeah, well, we weren’t really expecting things to go south,” you offer rather meekly.
Clearly not interested in continuing this discussion, Silco steps past her and makes for the drinks cart; miraculously undamaged by the tornado that seems to have swept the room. He pours two fingers of bourbon in a crystalline tumbler and holds it out in offering.
Sevika doesn’t need to be asked twice, taking it without a word while you sit on the couch with a very amused baby.
“You’re evil, you know that?” you whisper to Jinx before pressing a kiss against the soft tuft of blue hair sticking up from the crown of her head. She cackles at your accusation, curling little fingers around your cheek and tugging when you pull away.
Silco eyes the interaction, smile obscured by his own glass, and all evidence of it is gone by the time he sets the drink down.
“It was a unique set of circumstances that I hoped could be resolved without violence,” Silco says, refilling Sevika’s glass. “Had I known there would be blood spilled, I would have had you accompany me.”
“This is Zaun,” Sevika mutters, the harsh edge to her voice dulled somewhat by the alcohol. “There’s always blood to be spilled.”
You catch Silco’s cheek protruding once again as you set Jinx down on the cushions and busy yourself with adjusting her woefully buttoned onesie. Gracious as ever, she waits until the last button is done before informing you rather crudely that she’s in need of a new outfit altogether, and you let out a sigh as you pick her up.
The bickering stops when both parties turn to face you. Silco must recognise the way you’re holding Jinx – arms stretched out as far as possible – and the impish smile on his daughter’s face, while Sevika looks like she’s about to thank the gods she managed to evade this particular bullet.
The pair are still talking when you exit the office, with Silco lamenting the “unnecessary” deaths. It’s almost too easy for your mind to conjure the expression he must be wearing; the concerned tilt of his eyebrows and slight pout of his lip, totally at odds with the glow of amusement in his eyes, and the subtle curl of his mouth.
It takes Jinx whining and fussing in your hold for you to realise you’ve come to a stop in the hallway. A quick shake of your head and the unproductive musings are evicted, in favour of setting Jinx down in one of the vacated rooms of the club’s upper level. It’s not as decorated as his office, but it has everything you need to keep her fed, clean, and amused. For a few hours at a time, at least.
Silco had agreed to let you renovate it when you asked where you could watch over Jinx during the meetings that took place in his office. It’s not much of a secret that there’s a baby in the Last Drop anymore – she’s not the quietest of infants, after all – but keeping her out of sight allows for some anonymity, at the very least.
You’ve even toyed with the idea of telling people she’s your daughter, if only to keep her safe should someone start to get too close to the truth, but you have no idea how Silco would react to that.
You’re still pondering the same implications when you reenter the hallway, clean baby in tow.
Sevika exits the office just as you’re about to enter, and her eyes fall to Jinx, now half-asleep in your arms, before flicking back to you.
It’s a damn miracle your teeth don’t slice through your tongue with the effort it takes to not make a joke at her expense, but she sees right through you anyway.
“Don’t,” she grumbles, rubbing her temple.
“Don’t what?”
She heads for the stairs, patience clearly depleted. “Don’t laugh, don’t follow me, and don’t bother me. You know where I’ll be.”
Though commendable, your efforts prove futile. You call out after her, unable to resist one last jab.
“Bye Aunty Sevi,” you say, waving Jinx’s hand for added effect.
Sevika responds with a much less innocent display of her own hand before descending down the steps, frustration echoed by every footfall.
You reenter the office to find Silco sitting on the couch with an amused curl of his lips that mirrors your own.
“Laughing at your employee’s expense?” you ask in faux shock, taking a seat on the other end of the red sofa.
You swear you see his eyes drop to the gap between the two of you, but his gaze refocuses upwards in a blink.
“Of course,” he says. “I have to source my entertainment somehow.”
“You seemed pretty entertained earlier.”
“Unfortunate that it’s such an unsustainable means of enjoyment.”
You scoff a laugh, causing Jinx to stir in your arms. Her head lulls from you to Silco, who eyes her with the same tender smile that has taken up a somewhat permanent residence in your head. He cradles her without pause when you hold her out, and she’s drifting off again within moments of being in her father’s arms, comforted by the beat of his heart.
“Speaking of enjoyment,” you say, willing yourself not to stare. “Tomorrow’s a special day…”
Silence and a raised eyebrow is the only indication that he heard you.
“The last day of the year, in case you forgot.”
“I am in possession of a calendar, I’ll have you know.”
“And if I were to look at your calendar right now, would I see a list of all your super relaxing holiday plans on tomorrow’s date?”
“If you were to look at my calendar right now,” he says, mouth hooking upwards, “I’m afraid you would be sorely disappointed.”
You suppress the groan building up in your throat, mindful of Jinx. “Really? Not one day off?”
“The more I rest, the more Zaun’s independence eludes my grasp,” he says with a shrug, though there’s no denying the dark weight beneath his good eye.
Criticism won’t help you here, so you resort to what you know best.
“Fine,” you say, leaning back on the couch. “Do I still get the day off tomorrow?”
“I’m a man of my word,” he says, smoothing a thumb over Jinx’s tummy when she begins to babble in her sleep.
“To do as I please?”
“Are you aware of what a day off entails?”
“Excellent. Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Silco’s hand stills while his mouth morphs into a thin line you’re more than familiar with. “If you step foot in here tomorrow, expect to be charged double for your tab.”
“Won’t be necessary.”
“Dare I ask why?”
“I triple dog dare you to ask why.”
He rolls his eyes and sighs, accepting there’s only one way out of this. “Enlighten me.”
“Because I’ll be drinking up here. On this very couch. From those very bottles,” you say with a chipper smile, nodding to the drinks cart.
“And who approved that?”
“You did.”
“I can assure you I did not.”
Your hands rise to your cheeks, paired with a gasp and followed by the most exaggerated pout you can muster. “So I can’t do as I please? I thought you were a man of your word.”
“Has anyone ever told you how infuriating–”
“This is what my loyalty gets me?”
“I’m not opposed to adding you to the pile of corpses I left in–”
“Years of hard work, with nary a complaint–”
“You complain more than you breathe–”
“And all I ask for in return is that my boss takes a day to recuperate, yet–”
“Alright,” Silco hisses in a seething tone that would be intimidating were it not for the infant sleeping in his arms. “You may join me for no more than one hour tomorrow, if only because your wages don’t extend to childcare.”
“That’s a weird way of saying you secretly enjoy my company.”
“Out. Before I change my mind.”
You make no effort to hide your smile – such are the spoils of victory – as you rise from the couch. In return, Silco does nothing to withhold the chagrin that blankets his expression, beginning in his furrowed brow and ending in the firm set of his jaw.
“Bye, sweet girl,” you say to Jinx, pausing in the doorway.
Though subtle, you don’t miss the way Silco’s frown lessens – only just – at the action. Far less understated, however, is the way his mouth curves downwards once again under the weight of even more irritation, thanks to your parting words.
“And bye, softie.”