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Seeds sown long ago and many months of planning led to this moment, this night—the eve before the revolution on the bridge that the citizens of the Undercity have been anticipating for so long. Hope lingered on the horizon, out of reach yet within sight. Mothers and fathers on the edge of their seats. Children whispering to one another in the streets.
Vander, Silco, and Felicia met in the mines. A tight friendship was forged through collective hardship and struggle, sweat and tears. Blood too.
So much blood.
But enough was enough.
They needed a better life, for themselves and for future generations. Years of waiting and waiting and waiting for Piltover to do something made it clear that nothing was going to change. Not unless the Undercity’s residents took matters into their own hands. Previous attempts at doing so were met with cruel brutality by enforcers. Elites turn a blind eye as they make millions off the labor of the Undercity’s honest citizens who slave away in the mines with minimal compensation under harsh conditions, risking death every day for pittance just to put food on the table. Scraping by hardly constitutes living; it was all they could do just to survive.
But this time, it would be different. This time they were organized, thanks to Vander and Silco. They had a motive, and what greater one is there than love?
Felicia has two children who deserve to grow up happy and healthy. Who deserve to make their own choices in a free nation that serves them. A Zaun that would cradle them, foster their interests, and serve as their home. On their terms.
Piltover cradles nothing but the lies and riches it covets.
This night, this eve would be particularly special. It would be one to remember, a last chance at a sense of normalcy before lives are forever changed.
The Last Drop is the designated hangout spot, a safe space for many in the Undercity. A place for community, for togetherness. Which is why it must be the one to host a dance party of sorts to uplift the morale of the revolutionaries and citizens, to encourage them to fight for their community, for their loved ones. To remind them of why and for whom they are doing this all for.
It was Felicia’s idea, of course. The best ideas were always her’s.
The moment the suggestion left her lips, Vander had agreed to host with a hearty, kind laugh. Silco gave one of his signature small smiles.
“This will be good,” he said. “Undoubtedly.”
“What will be good is seeing you on the dance floor,” Vander replied.
“And don’t try to slink your way out of it!” Felicia added.
A wallflower is entirely unhelpful when the sole purpose of that night is to let loose. Perhaps other revolutions would have spent the day before preparing. Going over the plan, rethinking strategies, checking the weaponry. The only thing the trio was preparing was The Last Drop for a ton of patrons. Setting up more tables and chairs, reconsidering the layout of the establishment, ensuring all drinks are in stock.
“What’re you planning to do with the little blighters, Felicia?” Vander lifted a table with ease, its legs far above the ground to avoid scratching The Last Drop’s floors. It was closed, just for the morning and afternoon, in preparation for this evening’s activities.
“A neighbor’ll watch them for a bit—Oh, not over there Vander, here is better,” she pointed to a spot further to the right for him to set the table down. “Or if they flake out on me, I’ll make Connol stay back.”
Silco let out a chuckle from his spot on a chair as he watched Vander’s lumbering figure turn. On account of the table having just been moved, his drink was in his hand, swirling at the slight movement of his shoulders and hands. “I highly doubt Violet and Powder are happy about missing this.”
“Oh they threw a little fit all right, Violet especially. You know how she is. But I told them the party was for grown ups only.”
“They’ll have ample chances to party after tomorrow,” Vander said, wiping beads of sweat from his brow.
The three of them grew silent, remembering the weight of tomorrow. The promise of tomorrow, of a tomorrow. One that held hope for a victory that echoed their freedoms and dreams, unrestrained and entirely theirs.
“Oi, Sil. Stand up, I need that chair.”
“Can’t you see I’m enjoying my drink, Vander? Take that one over there.”
Vander’s boots clunked against the floors as he made his way over to Silco, looking down on him with a teasing twinkle in his eye. Mid-sip, Silco looked up just in time to see Vander’s big hands wrap around the back of the chair and lift it up, Silco still on.
“What the f—put me down you brute!”
His legs kicked out, desperate to make contact with something solid and still. The drink in his hand sloshed, the jerking of his feet unbalancing his precarious position on the chair. His other hand reached out to fist the material of Vander’s shirt for stabilization.
“Keep moving like that and I’ll drop you,” Vander threatened. Silco ceased his flailing at once.
Eyes closed, Felicia’s laughs rang inside the empty bar at their bickering. She was like the glue that bound them together. Setting the chair down gently in front of the table, Vander couldn’t help but join in on her laughter. After an exhale of relief (and with his feet safely back on the ground), Silco cracked a smile.
“Gonna let go?” Vander cocked an eyebrow, looking at Silco’s hand on his shoulder. Silco released his unconscious grip on Vander’s shirt.
“You wrinkled my shirt!”
“You manhandled me!” Silco retorted, but attempted to smooth it out, rather unsuccessfully, nevertheless. “There, all better.”
“Oh, hardly. I think—”
“We don’t have time for this, you two,” Felicia’s voice interrupted. She rolled her eyes and clapped. “Get a move on, chop chop! Bar’s not gonna set itself up!”
—
“I don’t understand why we can’t go,” Violet huffed, crossing her arms. Her parents were about to leave, but a last minute plea never hurt anyone.
Beside her, Powder mimicked her gesture, arms across her chest. Though Felicia didn’t think Powder entirely understood why Violet was so upset; she just wanted to be like her older sister.
“Because,” Connol gently explained for what must be the thirteenth time, “it’s for adults only. There won’t be anyone your age there. It’ll be dreadfully boring, trust me.”
He gave Felicia an inconspicuous wink, who knelt down in front of her daughters.
“We won’t be gone long.” Her hand cupped Violet’s face, thumb running over her cheeks. “In the meantime, you’re in charge.”
“I wanna see mom dance,” Powder sniffled. Felicia’s other hand went up to ruffle Powder’s soft blue hair.
“How about this,” Felicia reasoned. “The day after tomorrow, when everything is all over, we can have our own secret dance party.”
Young eyes lit up instantly at the grand idea and the two turned to look at each other. Their own secret dance party!
“We can dance all night long, and we can invite whoever you want. We’ll dance until our feet drop and there are blisters on our toes!” she described, making extravagant hand gestures to illustrate the scene.
Violet and Powder giggled at the idea, forgetting all about their disappointment and pondering a possible guest list instead. Their parents, obviously, and their good friends Vander and Silco, their own friends down the road, the stray dog they fed twice, oh and Benzo too. He always brought them weird gizmos and gifts whenever he visited. He gave Powder a slingshot once, maybe he’d bring them something new if they invited him?
Connol smiled at his wife’s words. She always knew exactly what to say to cheer someone up. She is strong and capable, but sweet and gentle. A little bit stubborn too. Her laugh is like the wild wind and her soul a sparkling star. Plus, that woman knows how to have fun; there’s never a dull moment with her.
A knock on the door signaled Tamara’s arrival, an agreeable neighbor they had known for years. According to her, she was much too old for The Last Drop’s antics, but she was never too old to entertain the youth.
While Connol greeted the woman, Felicia hugged Violet and Powder tightly. Her faint smell of axle grease never seemed to leave, no matter how much perfume she doused on herself. Neither of them minded. They wrapped their arms around her tighter. Perhaps, if they clung on long and hard enough, their mother would give up and take them with her.
They were not so fortunate. Their mother stood up and they were no match for her. Arms limp at their sides, they looked up at their father for some leeway.
Connol just finished giving Tamara a run down of the rules and Violet and Powder were disheartened to hear that Connol had remembered to tell the woman their bedtime.
“I love you. Don’t make too much trouble,” Connol called, closing the door behind him. Felicia repeated his words and gave Powder and Violet a wink, which earned her a giggle from the girls.
It was a particularly windy night, and as the two adults stepped out of their doorway and onto the cobblestone road, Felicia re-wrapped her shawl around herself and linked her arm in Connol’s. The Last Drop was their destination and the majority of their walk there was spent in silence.
Worries and hopes lingered on their tongues. Connol would make multiple attempts to open his mouth to speak, only to close it. His lips tightened. Felicia thought to say something, but couldn’t bring herself to actually voice it. In the end, the pair never said anything at all.
It was quite uncharacteristic for his wife to have no words, no opinions to share. But then, Connol thought, tonight is rather different. At home, the two of them pretend nothing is wrong, for their daughters' sakes. Playing, lecturing, and engaging in just the right amount of roughhousing. Around revolutionaries, they work on plans and increase their numbers. Strategizing with maps and mini props all the while. With friends, they laugh and drink in an attempt to forget their unfavorable circumstances. Because why, during grim times, would you choose to be grim and not grin? At least, while you still can.
Here, beneath the faint moonlight dimmed by the passing of dark clouds overhead, walking on the uneven paths of the town they decided to fight for, the daunting burden of tomorrow held its boot over their necks. Constricting. Like the thick gases they fought through in the mines. Connol didn’t know which one was worse. They are both terribly suffocating.
Felicia had inklings of doubt in her idea. Perhaps it was foolish, and it would have been wiser to spend the night counting their supplies and going over their route for the millionth time? Throwing a small party of all things…it wasn’t that they were confident in tomorrow’s success. Felicia knew very well the dangers arrogance possesses. How a single seed of it can demolish the greatest rulers, burn the biggest empires, and crumble the strongest armies.
It definitely wasn’t arrogance that gave her the idea, but the thought that they’ve done everything they could using whatever modicum of power they had. Everything rested on tomorrow and it felt, to Felicia, that their time was better spent with each other rather than brooding over plans and inevitable, inescapable anxieties.
But should they have stayed home to care for Violet and Powder? They were going to see them tomorrow morning, of course, but would they really be okay tonight? Part of a parent always worries. Felicia wrapped her shawl tighter around herself, thinking that, even though the party was her idea, they should leave early. Just to be sure.
The pair stopped in front of The Last Drop. The faint tune from the old jukebox in the corner and the shuffling of feet and chairs they could hear coming from within told them that people had already begun to arrive. The sign out front was a familiar and friendly sight, yet neither of them took the immediate initiative to walk in.
Connol, ever so attentive, seemed to sense Felicia’s growing unease.
“This was a great idea,” he reassured, placing a hand on her shoulder. “If you’re really worried, I can go back home and stay with the kids. You deserve this.”
Felicia shook her head. “No, we both deserve this—we all deserve this. One night where we don’t think about anything except good company and good music, even if it’s just for a short while.”
Connol unlinked his arms with Felicia’s and held her hand tightly, tugging her forward towards the doors.
“C’mon then.”
The sight that greeted them was, in all honesty, no surprise to Felicia.
Everyone seemed to be under some kind of subdued trance. Lingering worries and a looming tomorrow made everyone stiff, seated with their hands close to their bodies and their bodies firmly unmoving. At the pair’s entry, the patrons and their fellow revolutionaries paused their hushed conversations to look at The Last Drop’s most recent arrival. Upon meeting Felicia and Connol’s eyes, they nodded in acknowledgement and returned to their earlier, quiet conversations.
Felicia exhaled a heavy sigh. It was no dance party at all.
She looked to her side, where they had set up a makeshift stage just that morning. On the stage lay several instruments, all abandoned as the band had not yet arrived. She turned her attention to the bar. Behind it stood Vander, faithfully pouring drinks as he talked with a black-haired man sitting on a stool. He was hunched over a journal of some sort and his back was towards her, but Felicia instantly recognized Silco, seated in his usual spot.
Vander met her eye and waved her and Connol over.
“Felicia, Connol, good to see you both,” he greeted, his face erupting in a fat grin.
“On bar duty, eh Vander?” Connol said, matching his expression.
“Now don’t try to talk your way into a drink,” Vander shook his head, a smile still on his lips. “I’m not serving alcoholic beverages to anyone I’m leading across the bridge tomorrow.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
The two of them laughed.
Glancing around, Connol spotted Benzo and several of his other friends. Before making his way to greet other familiar faces, he placed a hand on the small of Felicia’s back in reassurance.
“The night is still young, everyone will loosen up. Don’t worry.”
At Connol’s retreating figure, Silco finally spoke up, taking his eyes off the pages of his notebook briefly.
“He’s right you know; it’s no party without you. Connol too. He is, surprisingly, quite the party animal.”
Felicia laughed. “That was a long, long time ago.”
“Ahh, Connol in his prime,” Vander sighed in reminiscence. Nodding to Felicia, he added, “Maybe, with the right song, we can bring him back.”
Felicia took his hint and moved to the jukebox. The song playing currently was old and entirely unexciting. Perhaps that was the ailment currently afflicting The Last Drop’s patrons. How could you possibly feel lively if the environment is so somber?
Silco’s nose was still buried in his book when Felicia returned after queuing up several upbeat songs. Her selection was entirely strategic. Folk songs passed down through several generations meant a familiarity that could not be ignored. The faster tune was already beginning to have its effects on the people in the establishment, who recognized the song currently playing and laughed. The scrape of chairs against the floors could be heard as people made room for dancing, the nostalgia enticing them to move to the rhythm.
“Much, much better,” Felicia smiled, brushing off her hands at a job well done and sitting beside Silco. She gave him a look.
“You’ve been distant lately. What’s going on?”
Vander stopped cleaning the glass cup he was currently holding to pay attention. He used to be able to read Silco quickly. The time they spent in the mines together taught him a lot about Silco’s smallest mannerisms, and it made reading him easy. Sufficiently greased, the gears in Silco’s head turned soundlessly, and it was harder and harder to decipher what exactly was going through his mind. Vander and Silco both held a bubbling, growing resentment for Piltover. But while Vander was more than happy to adamantly, verbally (sometimes physically) express his anger, the brunt of Silco’s indignation was quieter, and, oftentimes, scarier. It was like some dark unknown festering beneath black waters, threatening to grab you from the murky surface and drag you down with it.
“Nothing, just thinking,” Silco replied, as he usually does.
“For once, don’t. Tomorrow you can think, today— tonight—you should live.”
Felicia gestured towards the people around them, who were linking arms in preparation for a dance all residents of Zaun knew.
“Now I’m going to join them. Janna only knows what will happen tomorrow,” Felicia said firmly. “What will you do?”
Without waiting for a reply, Felicia hopped off her stool and strode over to join the masses.
“Tomorrow…”
“Tomorrow,” Vander repeated.
“We break our backs for Topside, and yet they continue to place boulders on our bodies,” Silco practically spat, his voice laced with an unrivaled bitterness. Silco shut his notebook closed with more force than necessary. “Tomorrow we’ll show them.”
“Always the poet,” Vander said, setting the glass down.
“What good is poeticism if no one is there to listen,” Silco replied exasperatedly.
“No matter how many pretty words you weave, Piltover will never listen. That much they’ve made clear.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Silco snapped. “Peace will never work against violence. We have to speak in a way they’ll understand.”
A bout of loud laughter interrupted Vander’s response, and Vander and Silco turned to watch the dance begin. Feet tangled and arms waved around nonsensically, this was undoubtedly the best part. Everyone is trying to find the rhythm, to move their legs along to the beat and treading on several toes until they get there. A semblance of a uniform dance begins to take shape.
Silco huffs and looks down at his notebook, which is still closed.
“Do you know what your problem is?” Vander asked after several minutes.
“Do enlighten me.”
“You’ve always got your nose stuck in a book—or in that journal of yours. If you don’t look up every once in a while, you’ll miss this.” Vander points to the crowd. “You’ll miss who we’re doing it all for, and you’ll miss the fun.”
Felicia and Connol seemed to be the only two to have mastered the song’s quick tempo, but the rest of the crowd was thoroughly enjoying themselves nonetheless. Whispering apologies at bumped limbs and giggling whenever someone tripped and pulled the line along with them.
“I suppose you’re right,” Silco said slowly. A sly smile grew on his lips, one Vander knew all too well. “I’ll join the line if you do.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
And so, the dutiful barman abandoned his post, and the poet exchanged the words on his tongue for cadence of the feet.
Felicia and Connol led the line while Silco and Vander made up the back. At the end of the line, it didn’t matter how much they messed up; it wouldn’t really affect the rest of the group. Vander was a lot less graceful than Silco and had stomped on his feet more times than he’d care to admit. In the end, the rhythm was lost to them entirely and the two moved their feet however they saw fit. Beaming so wide their jaws began to ache.
The song was rather lengthy, and by the time it finished, everyone was breathless and quite thirsty, so Vander made his way back to the bar to fill up glasses of water. Connol, Silco, and Felicia headed there too, to keep him company and to help with the distribution.
Felicia had just placed several cups on a tray when the door to The Last Drop opened and four people walked in.
“Ah! Band’s here, glad you guys could make it.”
Upon seeing the solemn look on their faces, Felicia’s smile faltered. “Oh no, did something happen?”
One of the members stepped forward, “It’s our guitarist. This morning, enforcers took her in for questioning. We should have told you. Our sincerest apologies.”
“She didn’t even do anything wrong—we thought it’d be over by now,” another member piped up. “They’re holding her just because they can,” he added bitterly.
“Is she all right?” Vander asked from behind the bar, his voice laden with concern. Silco and Connol turned towards the other two members of the band as they nodded.
The first member spoke again. “Yes—er, we think so. We can still play for you all tonight, I’m sure our guitarist would want that. We’d just be missing a crucial component of our sound, seeing as we don’t have someone to play.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know anyone who can play the electric guitar, would you?” interjected the second member of the band.
Three pairs of eyes, Vander’s, Felicia’s, and Connol’s, met Silco’s simultaneously.
“What?” he questioned, looking between the three of them. Realization soon dawned on him. “Oh, no. No, no, I wouldn’t—I couldn’t. It’s been years, and I’m not even sure I know how to—”
Silco’s protests were wholly ineffective.
On the other side of the Lanes, two girls were safely tucked in bed. Unbeknownst to their babysitter, they were, most definitely, not asleep. Speaking in hushed voices, they plotted their escape from beneath the covers of their shared bed, for how could they possibly sleep when they know their parents are partying away merely several streets down? It is entirely unfair that they should be subjected to cruel punishment (enforced bedtime) when a life of music and dance is a short walk away.
“Okay,” Violet said, her voice barely a whisper as she instructed her sister, “We’re gonna wait another half hour. Pretend like you need to use the bathroom and then scope out the house. If Tamara’s awake, go to the bathroom. If she’s asleep, our operation is a go. Come back and get me, and we’ll leave through the window.”
Powder nods as she rubs her eyes, straining to stay awake. She absolutely refused to fall asleep, not when such an exciting plan was in the works. Plus, Violet gave her an important job to do; she could not abandon her sister in her moment of need.
Thirty minutes of fake snoring later, Violet heard the pitter patter of Powder’s feet as she left the room to check on Tamara. Her breath held, she listened for any sounds or voices indicating the third party in the house was awake. Nothing could be heard, save for the slight battering of the window from the wind and the sounds of the outside night critters that crawled up from the cracks to play.
Powder returned much quicker than Violet anticipated, her movements so light and airy they nearly startled her sister. Violet sat up from her place on the bed and she could make out the nod of Powder’s head that told her the coast was clear.
Swiftly, expertly, as if the two had done it a million times, they slipped out of their pajamas and into their clothes without turning any lights on. They couldn’t risk rousing their babysitter and exposing their scheme. The window in their room struggled to slide open immediately, but it was forced to succumb to Violet’s will with a somewhat violent push that made much more noise than either of the girls would have liked.
“SHHHH!” Violet commanded the window. Powder had to shove her whole fist in her mouth to stifle her giggle.
A silence took hold of the household once more. They waited a beat, carefully listening for any creaks of the floorboards to alert them they had awoken Tamara. Nothing.
With a sigh of relief, Violet helped Powder clamber out of the window before she swung her own legs over the edge and she too dropped the short height down to the ground outside.
Fist free from the confines of her mouth, Powder did a little dance to celebrate their jailbreak. Violet smiled wide, silently hoping that she would be able to lead them both to The Last Drop in the dark. Her mother told her she was in charge after all (though it was doubtful Felicia was referring to this particular context).
The night did bring some challenges but navigation was not one of them. As the pair walked hand in hand, the first thing Violet noticed was how chilly the air outside was. This led her to notice the second thing: in their hurry to escape, neither of them thought to bring jackets. A violent shiver from Powder encouraged Violet to increase their pace.
The moon’s light offered guidance, a pale beacon that watched over them as they made their way through nearly-empty streets. This, in and of itself, was strange. The hour was not so late so as to deter the Undercity’s residents. Some stragglers could be found here and there, but there was no lingering. Everyone walked with a purpose, and if they talked, they did so in quiet voices, huddled in corners and speaking rapidly. Darting their eyes back and forth as if they were hiding some important secret. Which they were, Violet reminded herself.
Both Violet and Powder knew what tomorrow held for them, what it meant for them. Young age meant nothing to enforcers, and innocence was a luxury the oppressed were never afforded. It was foreign, short-lived. And, if embraced or prolonged, a liability.
Never look weak. Always be alert.
To Violet and Powder, tomorrow promised endless secret dance parties, but tomorrow promised liberation too. A chance to become something greater than what they were always belittled to be.
You belong down here, in the slums. You will never amount to anything. You will die, useless and pathetic. A nobody.
Violet was only seven when she first heard those words. Powder, even younger.
Despite her thoughts on the impending tomorrow, Violet walked with her head held high and her hand woven in her sister’s. The two did not speak of tomorrow, only tonight. For even the smallest of successes and joys should be celebrated: freedom from the perimeters from their bedroom and the prospect of a night of dancing with their parents.
This grew closer with each step they took towards The Last Drop, until it was right in front of them. The establishment’s sign caressed their faces in an orange hue, warm and inviting. They could hear the roaring laughter from within and heavy stomps that could only mean the dancing had already begun.
Pounding music overwhelmed the harsh howling of the wind that accompanied them along their walk, drowning it out and replacing it with something much more appealing.
Violet squeezed her sister’s hand in reassurance and opened the door.
The sight that greeted them was, for all intents and purposes, definitely a dance party. The line dance that had been occurring just a short while ago had evolved into something unapologetically rowdy, thanks to the band currently playing. Bodies swarmed around the makeshift stage, bouncing on their feet and moving their heads to the rhythm. It was difficult to make out where one person ended and another one began, as if they were a single entity.
While Violet took in the band, bassist and drummer grounding the rhythm while the keyboardist and the guitarist (who looked strangely familiar) upheld the melody and sang, Powder clung to her sister in the unfamiliar environment, her hold loosening slightly once she caught sight of her parents. Her mother was in the middle of the crowd beside a very tall, large man, bouncing to the music. Her father was a few paces back, enjoying the atmosphere from the edge of the room.
Connol caught her eye immediately, his eyes widening and his eyebrows furrowing in an attempt to decipher if the two figures near the door were really his two daughters. His eyes narrowed. Realizing they had been caught, Powder averted her gaze, but it was much too late to pretend nothing had happened as Connol made his way across the room in a few short strides.
Powder pulled on Violet’s hand in an effort to bring her focus back to the current situation just in time.
“What are you two doing here?” he asked with surprise, concern woven in his tone. Maybe a little bit of anger too.
Violet did not waver, instead firing an accusatory jab at her father. “I thought you said it was gonna be boring.”
She glanced to the stage, where the guitarist (who she could now recognize as Silco) strummed a barrage of notes so quick his fingers were but a blur.
“But–How did you–Where is–”
But Connol’s failed interrogation fell short as the door opened again and Tamara wobbled into the building, bent over to catch her breath and gripping Violet’s shoulder tightly in an attempt to remain upright.
“My…f-fault…Couldn’t…Escaped,” she wheezed through incomplete sentences. “The window…Thought they came here…”
Connol gave her a sympathetic glance. He looked to his two daughters, whose eyes were big and pleading, and heaved a weighty sigh.
“Well, not much I can do about that now. You girls might as well join us, the night is only just beginning.”
Tamara exhaled a shaky breath and Violet and Powder met each other’s eyes, the upward motion of the corners of their lips holding an unquelled, unspoken victory.
“But that’s not to say we won't be dealing with this tomorrow,” Connol hastily added. “That was very serious, it could have been very dangerous. What if some enforcers saw you?”
His words, however, went through one ear and out the other as Silco began playing the cords of the guitar in a way that could only signal the finale of the song. The crowd yelled and squealed and hopped up and down even more rapidly as an unmatched guitar solo captivated the audience.
The tune moved the core of every person in the room. Every hair on Powder’s arm stood on end as the notes fused together until they didn’t feel like notes at all, but one complex emotion.
A laugh and a cry.
Two opposing forces met in the melody. A mangled breakdown, a culmination of the forces driving the revolution’s core. Joy and sadness, love and loss. Desperation within desire.
And from her place in the room, Powder could make out the tears on Silco’s face and the sweat dripping down his forehead as the sheer force and flurry of his playing forced him down to his knees. Bent over his guitar, Silco gasped for air as he finished the final notes of his solo and found the strength to stand up. The crowd roared as the final note echoed throughout the room and Silco discarded the guitar.
Overwhelmed with emotion, Silco stage dove straight into the crowd without looking. One pair of hands held him tightly and a booming laugh from the figure joined the audience’s cheers. Normally, one would be caught by multiple people, but Vander was large enough to catch Silco himself, and took up enough space for it to seem that Silco had leapt straight into his arms.
Connol, Tamara, Violet, and Powder watched as Silco joined in on the laughter while the rest of the band continued to play without him. Felicia wove circles around her two friends, and the crowd parted to give her room while they continued to dance and laugh themselves.
Love sparks revolution, but against war, love will only be sold for its parts. Abandoned the moment it fails. Tomorrow looms closer still. But here, and now, with Violet and Powder taking in their environment with big grins plastered on their faces, and with Connol’s boisterous laughter filling the air while Felicia’s fluid dance circles around Vander as he holds Silco up, it binds everyone together and everything seems like it will be okay.