Chapter Text
If someone sat in a room— maybe given a cup of coffee or latte, whatever they preferred— and given the choice between living a life of adventure with the cost of trauma, or living the life of peace with the cost of boredom, which would they pick?
Perhaps the former. It'd be odd, but maybe some people were willing to give away apart of their being for some extra spice in their life. The latter being the opposite of course, there are many people who'd rather stay safe than sorry. There's a choice between the two, and people take different directions. Probably forced if life wants to make it that way.
Fortunately, if you were a child of Piltover, there was a 99.99% chance that you were given a choice to pick between the both, maybe even given some sugar in the coffee as a bonus.
Unfortunately, if you were a child of the undercity, then there was a 100% chance that you were guaranteed to have absolutely no choice at all. Forget the coffee itself, life there relied on probability and skill.
You were, unluckily, one of the citizens who had a 100% chance. A child of the undercity, Zaun specifically.
A rhythmic sound of metal chimes reverberated in your ears as you heard mumbling across the outdoor windows. The indoors were cold, but the outdoors were even colder.
You grumbled, and stared at the brute woman next to you. She didn't stare back. Heaving a sigh, obviously showing a sign of displeasure, you stood up from your chair and grabbed a piece of cloth besides your desk. It was soft, not as soft as silk, but soft nonetheless. The fabric was as good as a face covering, identity was important in dangerous lanes such as these.
You clipped the cloth above your nose to hide half of your face, only your eyes being revealed. You walked up to the counter and slid open the wooden door, meeting the face of a man, probably a few years older than you. Close to middle aged.
He nervously gripped his hood, seemingly trying to hide something as his vision frantically spun everywhere: your eyes, the counter, the dead grass, your eyes, the counter, the dead grass, your eyes— and ah, it seemed like he's a consumer of Shimmer.
There was no need to ask for the ailment.
You put your hands up, halting the man from speaking any more. You went back inside the office and counted the rows of potions in front of you. One. Two. Three.
Your fingers stopped at the fourth row.
The base of the ailment for Shimmer was always the fourth row, along with a few other drops of another substance, Shimmer. A negative and negative always makes a positive, after all.
You walked back to the counter and harshly placed down a glass bottle of translucent liquid. The man had his hand out, almost ready to grab the medicine.
"Trade." You stopped him with that only word.
He stared into your eyes, jittery. His hands wandered around his hips to the center of his back, desperate in finding whatever that can equal to the cure of his disfigurements.
A minute passed, you still stood patiently with the bottle, unmoving. The man looked at his hands to be met with a set of rings along his fingers. He pursed his lips. With nothing else left to offer, he took out his rings one by one and placed it on the wooden counter.
They seemed authentic at best, maybe some faulty metals mixed into the valuables but nothing that was out of the ordinary. You hummed, watching him slide the accessories underneath the oak.
You dropped a few drops of Shimmer into the vial before sliding it back to your customer. He looked back at you, his nerves rising up. You grunted and closed the door shut before the man could try to even thank you.
"... Trade?" The apothecary asked.
"Jewels," you replied simply. You peeled off the fabric from your face and threw it in the sink, "Rings. Authentic, but not the best quality."
She muttered in between her breaths and turned back to her work station, experimenting and creating more potions that had the potential in becoming ailments for future injuries and illnesses, perhaps an even better cure for Shimmer as well.
"If that's it then I'm heading to Chuck's... Thieram, or whatever." You mumbled. She nodded, not sending a word back. How sweet.
〆
A nice soundtrack of jazz, or was it contemporary? You had no idea, the music sounded great nonetheless.
The bar was clean, rare for a place found in the undercity. Zaun was bound to have a little spoilage from left to right, but the bar Cameron worked in was just the opposite. With a few repairs here and there, then the Last Drop would be as good as the ones in topside.
You rung the bell above the entrance door, "Heyy... Carl, right?"
"Uh, Thieram, actually." He corrected. The brunette moved his eyes to your figure, then back to the empty cup he was cleaning.
"Right, right. Sorry," you apologized, taking a seat in front of him. The bar was empty, meaning that you were free to talk about whatever you wanted. "Heard Progress Day is coming up. Anything happening up there?" You pointed at the ceiling, signaling over to Piltover. Connor stretched his back.
"Same as always— celebrating technological innovations," he informed, "Light or strong?"
"Light."
Chase nodded, "There's a large possibility of, erm, Hextech products being the main showstopper. That's a big thing going on now. But you probably already knew that, or not, I'm not sure. You aren't really out much unless Boss asks you to."
"Boss?" You scoffed, "Who? Silco? That's cute."
"Is he not your boss?"
"If you count making deals and agreements between both parties with equal standing, then sure, maybe he is my boss." You shrugged. Calvin passed you a drink, to which you grabbed and took a short sip of. You cringed at the bitter aftertaste.
You didn't appreciate the thought of seeing Silco as your boss. If it wasn't for your medical abilities, half of his goons would've been long gone. But if you were forced to see it in a hierarchical view, then maybe it was reasonable for people to think that you worked under him. He was far more richer and capable than you will ever be in two lifetimes.
Although, you had to admit that the man had the appearance of a corpse that was about to decompose any minute.
"Any other news you’ve hiding in your pockets?"
"Not that I know of... is that why you keep visiting my bar every morning?"
"Gotta make use with what I have," you reasoned. "Why interrogate some no-name bar for information when I already have my news reporter right over here? Unless you consider Jericho as one, too."
Cole nervously chuckled, "You mean the hidden brothel?"
"That's just full of junkies and bodies getting buried underneath the basement. I'd rather focus on my job with outside news flying by once at a time."
Silence dawned in the room, loud enough for you to hear Carson's towel squeaking as it cleaned the crevices of his brand-new cocktail shaker. You drummed your fingers against the counter before letting out an exhale.
"If that's it then I'm gonna go head out for a breather. Have to do something with Silco from his number two, anyways. Nice chat, Cooper." You stood up and waved your hand goodbye to the quiet bartender, who returned the wave back with a shaky smile.
"Ah, it's actually Thieram—"
You slammed the door shut.
"Well that ain't so nice is it?"
A familiar, yet indistinguishable voice teased. You turned around, your eyes meeting dark grayish ones with hues of blue. The lapis-haired youth stretched her lips into a grin.
"Poor good ol' Chuck really got his boots hurt right over there!" She then turned around and sent you a long, hard stare. The mischievous teen brightened up once again, "Hey, hey! I feel like I should know you. Where have I seen you before? Give me a big smile so I can cog my memory up a little bit!"
Your face stilled, not moving a single inch.
"Don't be such a Debby Downer, sweet cheeks. No one likes a boring crowd!" She playfully pouted, "Wait! I know who you are now, I've seen you in his office before!"
You cocked a brow, "Whose?"
"Well," She chuckled, "You know who..."
You examined her from head to toe— she had thick, long braids tightened in threads of blue hair while she wore typical Zaunite clothes, along with a chain of cloud tattoos wrapping from her arm to the corner of her back.
There was nothing out of the ordinary with her. She didn't seem to have the regal and pompous presence of a Piltie, but neither did she have the cautious one of a Zaunite either. You weren't going to judge on her origins, but you would be lying if you didn't admit being skeptical of her attitude. It felt too carefree for a citizen of the undercity.
Until something clicked in your head.
Someone with long, blue braids and seemingly impulsive behavior? No doubt about it, you were facing the infamous Jinx of the Silco tribe. You pursed your lips at your revelation.
"Silco, perhaps?"
"Ding, ding, ding!" Jinx quipped, "Would you look at that. So smart and clever, that's a good mindset to have, toots."
"Thank you... uh, Jinx—"
"Jee, you know who I am?" She questioned. The twinkle in her eye made you wonder if she felt flattered that you recognized who she was. Who wouldn't? She was the Jinx.
"... Yes, in fact, I do." You confirmed.
Your mind was going nowhere, in desperate need to find anything and everything to appease the ecstatic teen in front of you. Sure, you'd probably get along with her, but you weren't sure how to.
"You're popular around these areas. With your... bombs and such. Interesting mechanics, not that it's a bad thing, it's interesting. Very nice, indeed."
God, you've only ever talked to grown adults in your life. Talking to someone around your age just made you realize how bad you were at carrying conversations.
"Well, aren't you a people pleaser?" Jinx smirked. "Those stinkin' rich, old men would like a pretty face like yours up there in topside. It makes me wonder why such a gem like you is staying down over the dirty streets here."
Okay, woah there, buddy.
"I can't say if I should see that as a compliment or insult."
She shrugged with a Chesire-like grin, "See it how you want it, toots."
"Aright." You muttered suspiciously, crossing your arms. "Did Silco ask you to bring me to him? I wouldn't think you would be chosen for a pick up duty."
"Oh, right." She snorted, "Funny story, I wasn't."
You tilted your head.
"I stole it, silly!"
Oh, so that's it.
Alright then.
You were beginning to question Silco's taste in choosing his recruits. From the attitude Sevika has given you, your only guess would be that he had a low bar for his standards. A very low bar.
Jinx seemed nonsensical, not in a way that was bad. Moreover, in a way that it seemed hard to contain. Maybe a dose of childlike wisdom in the bottle incased with her maniacal personality. You didn’t judge her, though. Growing up in a place like Zaun would untie at least most leashes in the human body.
You sighed, rubbing your temples.
“Let’s get going then, shall we?”