Chapter Text
As a mechanic you know how to fix things. You have always loved when your younger siblings would give you the important job of fixing their precious toys. Even though you were younger than them you always excelled in academics; enough to impress your snooty parents. Your parents cared more about the impression their children made on their elite friends than the children themselves. This detachment from them lead you to usually staying by yourself in your workshop. Constantly tinkering, creating; you were destined for academic greatness, maybe even a council seat. Making Piltover greater through science.
You would’ve assumed that you could do real work in Piltover. However, you found you hated the Academy. Everything you did was analyzed in a way that was creativity crushing. All the aspects you loved about working on a prosthetic or coming up with a way of mechanizing pets were broken down into numbers. What was your intention with this color? Why would you choose this gear? Your core is underpowered, so why would you make it that way? It almost killed your love for mech completely. To the extreme disappointment of your parents (and their colleagues) you left schooling. You wanted work, real work, not just talking about creating something special, but actually doing it! That’s how you found yourself working for Krend’s and Son’s Repairs. Next to the beautiful river, across from the fishery you and your dad would visit when you were young, was a snug little shop. You would miss the Hole-in-the-Wall if you did not know it was there. The hours were rough on your sleep cycle at first and the work was definitely a strain on your body, but it brought more joy to you than any academic setting ever had.
Every morning you were up before the sun and headed to the market. To Krends' constant complaint you got breakfast for him and his boys every morning. God knows your parents have the money to spare and you don't feel any remorse for spending it on the ones you love. After picking up some delicious smelling fresh-baked bread. The kids will like this. You think, already picturing their greedy little faces. Practically running to the shop, you pull out your keys that were gifted to you by Krend for your birthday, you nearly cried when he gave them to you. Stepping into the shop you are immediately hit by three balls of gremlins. You fight to hold the basket of bread over your head as the boys try to climb up on you, laughing and screaming.
“Sit! Sit!” You yelp in an attempt to control the unruly children.
A big thump from the back of the shop drew your attention as the burly man basically erupted from the back. His gray hair aside, the older man was still a formidable but fatherly figure. He collects his sons off you with ease, scooping them up into his arms. Their shrieking laughter lands warm upon your ears.
“Now boys, ‘member not te bite the hand that feeds ya’!” He said in a booming voice. Your parents would have immediately looked down on him for his dialect, a telltale sign he was not born into a Piltover house. “Line up, line up!” He says gruffly, setting them down. The boys immediately do so, giggles quieting down as they look up at you with expectation.
“Hm.. I wonder what I am going to do with all this fresh baked bread~” You tease, laughing at their shouts. Handing them their share, then Krends. Finally, you sit to eat yours. Krend’s workbench has enough space to seat four of you, but when you sit with the giant of a man, there is barely enough space for you.
“You have em expectin fresh bread evry’ morning now.” He huffs, then giving you a playful punch on the shoulder. “Thanks.”
“No problem” You giggle. “How many clients do we have scheduled today?” The big man grunts and lightly tosses his leather planner on the desk in front of you. Flipping through you see the usual equipment, but immediately perk up once you see a project for a left arm prosthetic. “This one's mine!” You called dibs, tapping your finger on the client’s name, Sevika. Krend rolls his eyes.
“I would’ve given it te ya’ lass.” He grabs the book from you, tucking back into his jacket pocket.
One of your favorite things about working here (besides the family environment that was lacking in your parents mansion) was the customers. You have never been over Piltover’s bridge; a rule from your parents you have not yet broken. The stories and lives of the people that you got to work with gave you the feeling you had been with them on their adventures. Your favorite was from a lady who could not have been much older than you, but she had traveled half the continent. She came for help with a very important prosthetic. Her heart. You have no clue how the thing sustained itself, she refused to divulge that, just gave instructions on how to get the thing to stop shaking. Rowa, that was her name, you remember. She had told you that the heart was not a permanent fix, only something to extend her life a couple years.
“A damn shaking time bomb!” Rowa had said with a roar of laughter. She regaled you with tales of frost beasts, betrayal in royal palaces, and close encounters with mercenaries, “merc’s” she had called them.
These stories fill your head and you dream of one day leaving your parents disapproval for a life of adventure. In secret you have been practicing self defense moves in preparation of escaping from your very own “merc’s”.
Despite the tucked away location of her boss's shop it still attracted many customers. You suspect the quality of your work has brought in more than one of the higher level jobs. Krend stands up, giving you the look that you knew that meant it was time to get to work. You hop up and gently slap one of the boys on the back of the head as you make your way to the back of the shop. Your workdesk is significantly smaller than Krends. A lot neater too. He had cups of oil and gears thrown in boxes with no order that would make sense to someone who lived outside the craftsman's head. Yours had everything labeled and in separate drawers. It made it easy for you to know what to order when you were running low. These traits were probably passed down from your parents strict enforcing of cleanliness that would satisfy the standards of their peers.
As soon as you have your favorite pencil in your hand you become lost in your work. Design was a flowing, fun step in creation. You scratch out some rough ideas for a collapsible pocket watch as warm up, before coming up with ideas for the arm prosthetic appointment coming in later. Hours pass with every breath you take. The next thing you know you have four different designs fully mapped out and have collected most of the parts for a basic arm. More than likely these designs would be modified or rejected entirely. In your experience, the customer appreciates you having something for them to work with when they come in. Every now and then the extra work would grant you with more pocket money to stash away for when your parents inevitably disown you. You glance at the door, it has grown dark, this Sevika should be coming in soon. Krend was working on some sort of self watering vase for a gardener looking to come up with a new product. The gold pieces of mech were relocating themselves in a twisting motion. Skrend was always so wonderful at making his pieces beautiful, but he relied heavily on you for prosthetics because he knew little about the functions of the body or how to recreate them.
You are about to return to fiddling with the shell of the prosthetic when you hear the bell of the shop door merrily jingle. When you see the two guests you immediately recognize that they are residents of the Undercity. It is not the first time you have worked with people from the Undercity, it actually was quite frequent, a lot of limbs get lost down there. Your guard is always a bit raised when working with them ever since the man who needed a foot refused to pay and tried to hit Krend with his own prosthetic.
Whoever these people are, they definitely seemed more well mannered than most, you observed as the shorter gentleman spoke to Krend. The lady next to him must be Sevika, as she was missing an arm. You walk over and are a bit confused at the quiver in your boss's voice. The man, who you had previously only seen a side profile of, had the weather marks of some horror on the left half of his face. A chemical burn maybe? But what held your attention was his eye. A black pool with flecks of red and orange as if someone had flecked blood and fire among a tar pit. It was absolutely captivating. You quickly look over to the woman as to hopefully distract from your staring.
“You must be Sevika!” You say, “I will be your mechanic.” She grunts and holds out her good hand.
“Pleasure.” You lightly shake it.
“Please come take a look at what I have come up with so far!” You are actually quite excited. This woman was strong. She must be some kind of bouncer or bodyguard down there, she will need something sturdy. Basically tugging the woman over to your workbench and having her sit down you start blabbing about your ideas. It takes you a minute to realize the man with the beautiful eye had followed you over too. You hold up the designs for Sevika to observe.
“I came up with some simple starter ideas, but now that I see you, I want to make you something powerful.” You run your hand over her injury and measure it quickly.
“As long as I can hold something and open a door at the same time I will be happy.” Sevika says light-heartedly. You reward her with a little chuckle as you take your joint piece and attempt to line it up with her shoulder. It's a little too small.
“Let me measure your other arm.” You are direct, leaning across her, writing down everything you need. The challenge with a full arm prosthetic was symmetry. Weight, size, density: these all matter, if one of these is off it could take months for Sevika to be able to get used to using it. And as she lived in the Undercity, she would need to be ready to defend herself long before that.
“These are well done. Quite amazing actually.” The gravelly voice right behind you nearly causes you to jump out of your skin. You mentally scold yourself for forgetting he was there again.
“Thank you!” You say turning back to him and almost flushing at his proximity. You have never had any problems with boundaries, but something about this man made your skin prickle. If you had the opportunity you would take them time to study his well sculpted face, but you get the feeling he doesn't like being stared at. Shame, for someone as attractive as him to be so self conscious.
“How long have you been working on prosthetics?” That deep voice questioned, his green eye sizing up your abilities.
“Ever since I was a little. It must have been when I was eight or so when I made a wing for a bird that hit my window.” You muse over that bird. You had nearly rusted the metal when making it because your father said it would be better to end its suffering than to prolong its existence. You proved him wrong, that little bird had flown away with that little silver wing you made.
“Your first one was a wing?” The man questioned but before you can answer a disgruntled Sevika speaks up.
“Silco we aren’t here to talk about wings or ogle at my pretty mechanic, I would like to have an arm again.” The direct words have you completely flushed and you quickly turn to grab your sketch pad so that no one would see. Especially Krend, the way he would tease if he saw!
“Your mechanic? If I remember correctly I am the one paying her.” He says in annoyance, but not anger.
“If I remember correctly, I lost this arm saving your life.” She hissed mockingly. You perked up at this. Always a sucker for a good story.
“You saved his life?” You prompted. The man, whose name was apparently Silco groaned. Sevika’s face lit up as she began to regale the tale of the blast. You can tell she was leaving out parts, probably something on the more illegal side you guess, but nonetheless you enjoy it. You hand a redrawn arm over for Sevika to see, Silco peers over her shoulder.
“I think this suits you alot better.” Sevika nods approvingly. Silco’s frown tugged a bit downwards.
“May I add something?” He holds his hand out to your sketchpad. You hand it over and he walks over to your desk and leans over to draw something out. You find yourself creeping up behind him to peek over his shoulder. His lines are fine and precise, which you can already tell should be expected from this brooding figure. His neat lines contrast nicely with your short sketchy ones. He is an architect and you are the artist. He inserts a vial-like object in the front of the arm, and tubes that would connect with the shoulder. You put your hand on his arm and slide him over slightly, you can feel him tense under your touch, but he doesn't act out. You slide yourself next to him.
“Is this something that is necessary?”
“Yes.”
“There should be a way to get the vials to travel inside, and we can’t have thes exposed tubes. I suspect you both are apt to find yourself in a fight or two. Do you want her arm being ripped off? That could be life or death.” You state. Silco turns towards you, his face screws up when he realizes this obvious flaw. He sighs, and you feel his hot breath hit your neck. You stand up suddenly.
“Come back tomorrow. I will be working on a mockup. Sevika, I can give you something to use temporarily, but it will be a little clunky.”
“Better than nothing.” She says. Krend has already prepped the temporary and it is on his desk. You walk them over and get them rescheduled, your mind already rushing with plans. You show Sevika how to attach the arm and send them on their way. When they exit you let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding. Krend is already grabbing his jacket and picking up his now sleeping kids.
“That was mighty terrifying.” He says with a shiver.
“What do you mean?” The only thing you really noticed from them was that they were Undercity, and the embarrassment from Sevika’s remark. Nothing terrifying. Your boss's eyes widen.
“That was Silco!” He said in that thick accent as if it was supposed to mean something. Seeing you had no recognition he explained. “The new head of his “Nation of Zaun.” He’s a psychopath, lass! Thinks he can take on te whole of Piltover! Foolish murderer he is.” Despite this a small smile escapes you.
You have an interesting new customer.
_____
Silco and Sevika walk together in the dark, Sevika testing out the temporary arm.
“Tomorrow I will come here by myself.” She states. Silco frowns.
“You will not.” Sevika looks knowingly at him.
“You can’t let me have the pretty one? Not even for me?” She fakes a pout, only to be returned with a dark look.
“Sevika you are getting too comfortable with me. Know your place.” She merely huffs. She knows not to take offense to his sharp words, but she does back off. Everyone knows to stay out of the older man’s way when he has his plans.