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“Do I look like a guide dog, Medarda?”
Golden eyes narrowed, flicking up and down in a barely noticeable movement taking the full measure of Sevika. And what a measure it was, the woman towering over her like she did over most people. Sometimes it made Mel reconsider her heels choice. Maybe she ought to go a bit bigger.
“I’m asking about the guide part only,” she replied. “And it’s Councillor Medarda, Councillor Sevika,”
Sevika returned her scrutinising gaze before shrugging.
“It’s on my way, so you can just follow along,”
It was, objectively, a bit of a hassle to still live in Zaun while being required to attend meetings and do half her work in Piltover, but although the invitation had been extended for her to come live in one of their golden towers, she couldn’t think of anything worse than that. They were building new aerial tramways lines, attempting to connect the two unhappily married districts, so it would get better eventually.
She was so sure Medarda wouldn’t mind the walk. For all that she appeared rather dainty and delicate from afar, Sevika had seen her fight in a real battle. Magic or no magic, that was a woman with more training as a soldier than Sevika herself ever got in her life (if you only counted formal soldier training, she had gotten none of it in her life, she supposed). From up-close, it appeared she was all corded muscles and supple limbs. She was still sizing her up, as she did with all her new colleagues. Taking in everything they said, every twitch of their face when she spoke. Which ones would reject anything that came from a Zaunite. So far, she rather liked Shoola, they had even spent an evening drinking at a bar, ranting about the mechs they had crossed paths with and their quirks when it came to maintaining their respective mechanical arm and eye.
Remiate, the older woman who required an alarming amount of cushions to sit at the same height as everyone, had been a bit of a toss up. Reluctant at first, but quick to open up. They often argued in favour of the same things, albeit different paths usually led them to the same conclusion. And Remiate’s permanent frown seemed to be a regular feature of her face, not something meant for Sevika only.
Then there was Durran at the far end of the likeability spectrum. He had made little secret of his disapproval over the whole situation as he called it (her, it was her, she was the situation).
Mel Medarda, though. A mystery she had yet to pierce through. The issue was this woman was clearly at the top of the politics game. Which meant that nothing she said, no face she made, could be trusted. On the surface she appeared sympathetic to Zaun’s plights, and in votes had gone Sevika’s way more than once, but her focus on the longer term, the always bigger picture, had her questioning every single decision she took. It was enthralling, in a way, to find an opponent so skilled at a game she was only starting to play— but that game weighed heavy with the fate of her own people.
So maybe she had agreed to this little visit in Zaun, to help Medarda find some contractor she had business with, to get an opportunity to dissect her a little while on her own terrain.
Mel Medarda had spent her life navigating power. She knew its language—the weight of a glance, the sharpened edges of a well-placed word. But here, in Zaun’s tangled underbelly, power spoke differently. It was rougher. Hungrier. And right now, it was leading her down a dimly lit street that smelled of rust and something acrid she’d rather not identify.
Ahead of her, Sevika walked with the easy confidence of someone who knew she was untouchable here. Her mechanical arm whirred softly as she adjusted her coat, not even sparing Mel a glance.
They turned a corner, and suddenly, the hush was replaced with the low murmur of voices—Zaunites gathered outside a workshop, faces shadowed under dim, flickering lights. Mel felt their eyes on her. Some were curious, some hostile. A few whispered behind calloused hands. It wasn’t fear. It was wariness.
Mel adjusted her posture, letting her shoulders roll back, chin tilting just so. If they wanted to stare, she’d let them stare.
Sevika, looking back at her, let out a low chuckle. “Don’t get jumpy, Councillor. You stand out like a sore thumb, but no one’s stupid enough to try anything.”
“Oh?” Mel’s voice was light, but her gaze sharpened. “And why’s that?”
“Because they know if they mess with you, they mess with me.” Sevika stopped, turning to face her fully for the first time since they’d started walking. Her smirk was a slow, deliberate thing. “And no one wants that.”
Mel let that settle between them. It was an interesting choice of wording. Not ‘mess with a Piltover councillor’—not the political weight behind both their names now. But ‘mess with me’, with Sevika only. The enforcer’s reputation carried more weight in these streets than all of Piltover’s bureaucracy.
“Mm. How reassuring,” Mel said dryly. Then, after a pause, “Do they fear you, or respect you?”
The silence stretched this time, not the wary quiet of the streets, but something else. Sevika studied her, and for the first time, Mel felt like she was being measured—not for weakness, not for leverage, but for something deeper. And she wasn’t sure if she liked it.
Finally, Sevika scoffed, turning on her heel. “Doesn’t matter, as long as they listen.”
Mel followed, letting the conversation settle into the damp air between them. Sevika was right, in a way. Power didn’t care for the difference between fear and respect—not in Zaun, not in Piltover.
But she did.
"Is that a lesson Silco taught you?"
Sevika's previous employment tended to be the elephant in the room during councils, especially when the matter of shimmer was brought up. Yet the Zaunite councillor never rose to any bait when sitting at the table, offering neither defense nor apologies for her past loyalties (were they even past loyalties?). Could one really blame Mel for trying to scratch the itch and see if a different environment could bring a new reaction?
"It's a lesson any idiot can learn. When it comes to not getting mugged in a dark alley, it doesn't matter if it's fear or respect that keeps people away,"
"And when does it matter? When using children in shimmer factories?"
Sevika’s stride faltered—just for a second. Most wouldn’t have caught it, but Mel did. She always noticed the small things. The twist of a mouth, the tension in a jaw. And right now, there was tension humming beneath Sevika’s carefully indifferent exterior.
“Careful,” Sevika said, her voice smooth but edged with something sharper. “Throwing stones from your crystal tower, Medarda.”
“It's a golden tower, really,” Mel replied, keeping her tone light, but her words deliberate. “And I only have to open the window to throw my stones,”
That did it. Sevika stopped, turning toward her with that slow, deliberate kind of movement that felt like a threat in itself. There was no anger in her face, no guilt, either. Just a heavy, unreadable calm that made it impossible to tell whether she was about to walk away or press Mel against the nearest wall.
“I did what needed doing.”
A convenient answer. It should have bored her but it didn’t. Not when Sevika stood this close, the faint scent of metal and smoke lingering around her, something rough and undeniably human beneath all that armor.
"I think you know fully well when the difference between fear and respect matters, and that you don't need me to teach you," Sevika continued, tilting her head and mindlessly touching her mechanical arm with her other hand. "I think it's a lesson that took a long time for Pilties to learn. Actually, I think it took a blown up council room for a lot of you to learn,"
A-ah, light frown of the beautifully groomed dark eyebrows. Mel seemed to lean forward to retort, but Sevika took another step, nudging her against the wall of another workshop.
"So what will it be between us, Councillor Medarda? Will it be respect? Or will it be fear?"
"It could be personal space, for starters," Mel narrowed her eyes at her, unable to completely stop her cheeks from darkening, but Sevika merely chuckled, pointing one finger toward the sign hanging above their head.
"No need to get any ideas. We have just arrived at your destination," she stepped back and gave her a lazy wave, turning herself into a new direction. "I'll leave you to your errands, I trust you can find the way back yourself. Let's take another walk, sometimes,"
Will it be respect or will it be fear? Mel watched the retreating back of the Zaunite councillor, the broad expense of her shoulders that had so easily bracketed her just earlier. Oh, she did not pretend to find out the answer to that just yet.
But she would create more occasions for them to pick at the question.