Chapter Text
It’s a rare sunny day in the undercity when the Piltie comes to town.
The sunlight doesn’t usually reach the Lanes - the smog keeps everything in a constant grey haze - but on that day, the streets seem lighter. A paler grey, maybe, with the glint of the sun on the higher windows, giving even the residents of the undercity a rare occasion to smile.
But the smiles fade quickly when they see who just bought the dilapidated building - her hair is too bright for the undercity. Too clean. Like it caught a bit of light on its way down from Piltover, and held on despite the grime and smog of its new locale.
It is obvious she doesn’t belong there.
People watch her warily, shifting out of her way, several shadowed figures keeping track of her movements to see if she might be an easy target. She doesn’t look like an enforcer, dressed not in a blue uniform but in dark clothing - a dark coat, and a dark skirt. If it weren’t for her hair, she wouldn’t look so out of place, at least not at first glance. But it’s obvious to anyone who watches - and there are plenty who do - that she isn’t one of them.
And over the next few days, it becomes clear that she intends to stick around.
She bought herself a building in the undercity, right there in Silco’s territory, just a few minutes’ walk away from his headquarters at the Last Drop. It had been abandoned, used briefly as a shelter and more recurrently as a place to dose up, and there hadn’t been anyone interested in the location until now. No one from outside invests in the undercity, after all, and there are few with the capital within the undercity who are willing to move so close to Silco’s own doorstep.
She, of course, doesn’t seem to care. She might not even know how dangerous her chosen home is.
There are some whispers of pity, but most seem to eagerly await the day Silco puts her in her place. Get her out of here , people whisper. Send her back where she came from .
It takes nearly a week before Silco actually makes a move. No one would dare guess what he’s thinking, but perhaps he was waiting to see if she really intended to stick around before stepping out of the shadows. Or perhaps he was waiting for something else.
In any case, a knock comes on her door on the sixth night after she officially moved in. She had been waiting for something like this, and she is wary when she opens the door, expecting a group.
But it’s just one person - a woman, tall and muscular, with the hint of gears glinting out from under her cloak.
“Is there something wrong?” the newcomer asks, standing in the doorway.
“You tell me,” the woman says. Her voice is rough. She doesn’t seem happy to be here. “Why are you here?”
“I live here,” is the reply, reasonable and even affable. She is looking at the tall woman with some unreadable expression in her eyes, but there is a smile on her face.
“Don’t get smart,” the woman scoffs. “What are you doing down here in the undercity? It’s not for the view.”
“For business,” she replies.
She can’t see anyone else out there, but it doesn’t mean this woman came alone. One of her hands is loose by her side, the other resting lightly on the doorframe. She is tense, wary.
“There’s no business that comes through here without his approval,” the woman sneers.
“Really? Who are we talking about, exactly?”
“Don’t pretend you don’t know,” the woman says.
“I really don’t,” the other shrugs. “If you’d be so kind as to enlighten me?”
“Silco, of course.”
“And why would the owner of the Last Drop have any business with me?” the newcomer asks. Is she playing dumb or does she really not know? She is an outsider, after all.
“Everything that happens in this neighborhood is his business,” the tall woman says. “So tell me - what are you doing here?”
She came here to intimidate her, obviously. It’s just one woman, but maybe that’s all they think they need.
They have underestimated her.
“If you had waited another day, you would have found out along with everyone else,” she sighs. “I don’t really see the need for such - aggressive measures. But I have nothing to hide.”
That makes the woman’s eye twitch.
“Tell your boss I have no intention of taking any business away from him. I’m not opening a bar, or any other establishment of the sort - it’ll be a school.”
“A school? Why?” Her incredulous reaction is a telling sign that this is going to be a bit more challenging than she had thought. She hopes not all the residents are this incredulous about the prospect of a school in their neighborhood.
“Well, don’t you need one? I didn’t think there was one here.”
“We don’t have schools in the undercity,” the woman sneers. “Don’t you know even that much?”
“Well, maybe I want to change that,” she replies, smiling winningly up at the other woman. If she thought she was aggressive in the beginning, it’s nothing compared to the outright hostility she’s showing now.
“You’re wasting your time,” she says. “Go back where you came from.”
The newcomer laughs, too bright for the dingy surroundings. Too happy.
“I think that’s for me to determine, not you,” she says. “Maybe I don’t think trying to make things better is a waste of time.”
“You’re not gonna make anything better, Piltie,” is the sneered response. “You’re just gonna make things worse for yourself.”
And with that, the visit is, apparently, over. The woman disappears back into the night, and the newcomer is left to lock her door and sigh. She had hoped it might be easier than this.
-
The newcomer’s name is, apparently, Lludi. And she wasn’t lying about her intentions: she announces, quite grandly, with a sign on the front of her building, that this is the future site of an all-genders school, ages seven through fourteen. Training in mathematics, science, even literature. A diploma that will be recognized by the Academy in Piltover as a precursor to higher levels of education.
Something that has never before been seen in the undercity, and something which no one ever necessarily wanted to see.
Lludi doesn’t mind the sidelong glances and the harsh whispers, though. No one has bothered her since the woman came in the night, and she supposes that the one who owns this part of the undercity has decided just to keep an eye on her for now. Maybe there are even orders not to mess with her - it’s not just anyone who can buy an entire building and set up a school. Maybe he’s waiting to see who’s backing her.
The word on the street is that it’s a Piltie scheme - either harebrained or malicious, depending on the rumor.
Some say she’s working with the enforcers, trying to root out seditious elements or to brainwash their children into compliance. Others say she’s out of touch with reality, just a silly Piltovian woman with dreams of enlightening the poor, savage sump rats. One rumor is that it’s all part of a scheme to import Piltovian customs, replacing their own Zaunite culture and taking away even the last bit of their independence.
One of the more realistic rumors is that she’s here to surveil them - or even, specifically, to keep an eye on Silco and the chem-barons. That’s probably the most worrisome outcome for the ones in power, and it’s likely the reason she finds the woman loitering, again, outside her doorway a few weeks later.
“Can I help you?”
“Just here to check up on you,” the woman says, who doesn’t seem very happy about it.
“Want to know if I’m ready to leave yet, I suppose?”
She grins at the woman’s look of surprise. It’s not much of a secret that no one wants her here.
“How did you- actually, doesn’t matter. Are you?”
“I’m not stupid,” she says, shrugging. “But I’m not giving up.”
The woman scoffs. She doesn’t seem the type to leave it at this - just talking. She seems like she’s always itching for a fight. But, for some reason, she doesn’t pick one. She just leaves.
Lludi watches her go, feeling a bit off. It seems this Silco character is more wary of her than she’d thought.
So, the next night, she braids her hair up and throws on her rattiest hooded cloak, ready to do some more reconnaissance. She did some before selecting her spot, of course, and a bit more as she’s been cleaning the place up, buying construction materials and throwing out old debris, but she needs more data if she’s to make this successful.
It is easy to identify who’s watching her building - a pair of men, loitering, who change every few hours, smoking and gambling or chatting up the ladies who pass by - and it’s easy to slip past their notice. She’s done it several times since moving in, but tonight she plans to be out a bit longer than usual. She’ll have to make sure she doesn’t get caught after they change the guard. She doesn’t know whether the new ones will be more observant.
Lludi isn’t a stranger to sneaking around, but she is a stranger here in the undercity. She is under no false impression that if someone were truly trying to follow her, she’d be able to escape - but at least from the lackadaisical eyes of Silco’s men, and at least for now, she’s safe.
She listens to the conversations as she passes, more or less unseen, down the streets. Some are muttering about the injustice of the upper city - a common theme, she knows - and others are laughing raucously, enjoying a nice night out with friends or business partners. This area is crowded with bars, clubs, and, further down, brothels. That’s where she’s headed.
It’s an information hub. They always are. Even just by loitering around the entrance, she can get a feel for the pulse of the night - goons of all sorts, normal citizens and thugs, miners, those who work with the chem-barons, all mingling and chatting with the workers. Someone sidles up to her, trying to get her into one of the brothels - she eyes them, unsure. It might not be a good idea to go with the first person who comes up to her, just in case she has been identified.
So she waves the person off, instead choosing a different brothel. The lights are low and red, the air full of perfume and the smell of Shimmer. Laughter and music spills out from most of the rooms, curtains drawn for a modicum of privacy, and she follows the hallway back to a bigger room - the workers are mingling there, serving drinks and flirting with the patrons. One man is dancing sensually on a platform towards the side, several blissed-out onlookers enjoying the show. He has golden hair and dark, lined eyes. His clothing leaves little to the imagination.
She turns from the sight, an uncomfortable tightness in her stomach.
“Come here, darling, drink with us,” one of the workers says, taking her by the hand to lead her to a table. Two other workers are there, and one other patron - a man who might be too drunk to stand, if his bleary eyes are any indication. But he’s wearing nicer clothing, and he’s enjoying the attentions of the workers, money changing hands easily. Perhaps she, too, has been picked as an easy mark.
But she sits, nevertheless. This is what she’s here for.
“What would you like, darling?” the worker asks, smiling and running her fingers over her gloved hand. She allows the touch - it’s expected - but shifts away when the woman reaches for her hood. That is staying on tonight.
“Whiskey’s fine,” she says, letting a bit of an accent color her words. Not an undercity accent, she can’t do one reliably, but something from a place other than Piltover. Easy mark or not, she doesn’t want to be identified as a Piltie tonight.
“That’s all?” the woman asks, still stroking her arm, toying with the edge of Lludi’s long sleeve. She turns her hand over, takes the woman’s hand, pulls her closer -
“Tell me a story, beautiful,” she says, her voice low and flirtatious. It makes the worker giggle, especially when she uses her other hand to pull a coin magically from the air.
And the worker does, in fact, tell her a story - something mundane, she asks, and ends up with a tale of one of the woman’s friends, who went out the other night and met someone, who had been talking to someone from the docks, who told her the story about an overturned boat and a few lost casks of Shimmer. And then another story, for another coin, something about the trouble with one of the old mines, where so-and-so’s husband met so-and-so’s daughter. And then one about the owner of a shop down the street, who had to pay higher fees this month for some unknown, but much discussed, reason.
And then -
“And everyone’s talking about the Piltie down in the Lanes,” the worker says, comfortable now, happy with this foreigner with deep pockets and the desire for company. Lonely , she thinks. Poor sap.
“Everyone? But I haven’t heard a thing,” she says, languid, as if uninterested.
“Oh, it’s the funniest thing,” the woman laughs. “Put up a big sign - a school, if you’d believe it! As if we can trust anything they try to give us. More likely it’s true what everyone’s saying - she’s here to spy on us. She set up right next to Silco, after all, and he’s not too happy about that.”
“Right next to him?”
“Crazy, isn’t it? Has no clue what she’s in for. Everyone’s saying she might be an enforcer - or from the council, maybe, because who else would be crazy enough to set up a school in the Lanes, of all places?”
She snorts.
“Best of luck to her, then,” she says. “How about another story - something about you, this time?”
And the woman keeps going, talking about yesterday’s jaunt to the market, and then last weekend’s fight, between one of Silco’s top dogs and a thug who was stupid enough to try flirting with her companion for the night. Punched a hole right through the wall , she says, with a frown. Won’t get fixed for weeks, probably .
She disentangles herself from the worker after a few more stories, deciding that it’s probably enough for one night. She can’t do this too often, and she’ll have to switch disguises next time, but for a few hours’ work it’s definitely worth it.
She’s on her way back, stumbling a little from the effects of the alcohol and the cloud of Shimmer that has engulfed her for so long, head spinning a bit more than it probably should. Perhaps that’s why she’s not as careful as she would usually be.
The alleyway is dark, as alleyways tend to be, but there are watchful eyes on her nevertheless. She spins around when she notices - later than she should. She’s expecting one of Silco’s men, or that woman, or even someone from the brothel - it’s a cloaked figure, hunched over, one of the many addicts of these streets. They are bigger than her, even hunched as they are, and quicker than she expects.
“Give it to me,” they say, desperate. “The money. I saw you - give it.”
She reaches under her cloak for her weapon, but - someone else is watching. It’s not just this one. She can’t fight them here.
The person lunges for her, desperate, quick, and she thinks it’s an acceptable loss. She spent most of her coins for the night already. It’ll just be a handful, and she can get more. It’s not worth exposing herself -
She is not expecting the weapon. It flashes in the person’s hand just a moment before she feels it, embedded in her stomach, a sharp pressure and the burning pain of something being stabbed into her unarmored flesh.
Unnecessary , she thinks, woozy from the alcohol and the pain. The person takes her money and runs, leaving her to slump against the side of the building, clutching her side -
It’s a syringe.
“Damn it,” she hisses, sliding down to the ground. She doesn’t know any doctors here, and she needs medication if she’s to avoid the infection that is almost certainly on its way. Used needles are everywhere on these streets, but she’d never thought she’d get stabbed with one. She yanks it out, throwing it on the street and pressing her hand to the wound.
At least the syringe didn’t get her too deep. If it weren’t for the infection, she could probably patch herself up.
But -
“I’m getting soft,” she mutters, throwing her head back and closing her eyes. She’s leaning on the wall for a moment, gathering herself. Should have just-
“Hey,” comes a stranger’s voice. She snaps her eyes open, reaching for her weapon, cringing in pain when she twists too quickly. It’s not one of Silco’s men, though, and it’s not the tall woman, either.
The stranger isn’t as tall as that woman - she’s taller than Lludi, but most people are - but the most striking thing about her is that she’s big. She looks like the sort to punch first, and ask questions later. Lludi’s eyes dart down to the hand that’s being offered to her - wrapped, like a fighter.
“You need medical attention, or that’ll spread all the way to your liver.”
“I don’t have any money,” Lludi rasps. There was something else on that needle, she thinks. Maybe not all the Shimmer had been used up - she can feel something burning. She shouldn’t have ripped it out. Or maybe she shouldn’t have removed her hand to grab the weapon - she presses it back down, gloved fingers slippery with blood. “But you know that already.”
The woman isn’t apologetic at all about watching Lludi get robbed.
“Yeah,” she says. “You can pay me back later. Come on - I’m from the Clinic.”
She says it like it’s capitalized, like it’s a name Lludi should know. She did her research before coming down here, but it’s only a fraction of what a local would know. She doesn’t want to reveal her ignorance - even if this woman seems helpful now, she probably wouldn’t deign to help an outsider if she knew.
And it’s not like Lludi can keep it a secret forever.
Her abdomen twinges again, and she winces, doubling over. Okay, then. Choice made.
She takes the woman’s hand, lets her haul her up from the filthy ground. The woman slings Lludi’s free arm around her shoulders, half-carrying her down the street. Her head is spinning now from the movement. It’s not blood loss, though - she’s been drugged with something.
She barely makes it to their destination before collapsing, panting heavily and sweating from the exertion. She feels feverish, hot in the layers she’s wearing, and she wishes, suddenly, for her old clothes.
“Hot,” she gasps, throwing her cloak off her body, but still with the presence of mind to keep her hood on. She looks down - the blood is staining her grey shirt black. Her gloves are slick and dark, glinting wetly in the bright light of the woman’s workroom.
“You’re not looking too good,” the woman agrees, bustling around in the corner of the room. She comes back with a cloth and water - “Hands off, I have to clean it first.”
If clutching her wound hurt, pulling her hand away is even worse. She groans, clenching her teeth, eyes closed. She really shouldn’t have torn that syringe away.
The woman whistles lowly.
“Look at that, it’s spreading quicker than I’ve ever seen.”
Lludi looks down, her shirt cut away and the flesh beneath washed free of the blood - the wound itself is small, leaking blood from a tiny hole in her skin, but there are veins of dark purple spreading.
“What is it?” she gasps, feeling the burn of it spreading as she watches.
The woman looks at her curiously, eyes narrowed.
“Not from around here, are you?”
“Maybe not,” she says, calculating how much time it’ll take to wrench herself up, reach for her weapon, and swing - “Is that a problem?”
The woman just shrugs.
“As long as you can pay me,” she says. “And go back to wherever you came from.”
Lludi snorts, then winces as the laughter seizes in her aching abdomen.
“I’ve been hearing that a lot lately,” she mutters. “Can you fix it?”
“Shimmer’s a tricky one, especially a dirty blend like this. But yeah, I can fix it.”
“I’ll pay,” Lludi says. She hadn’t known that Shimmer could cause this sort of reaction, burning and bubbling through her like the worst sort of acid. She doesn’t feel stronger at all - just a lot of pain.
The woman shrugs, getting back to work.
“Then sit still,” she says. “And don’t talk.”