❛  CHAPTER THREE ❜
Friends In Low Places

( cw; depictions of violence, blood
and poor pacing tbh )

𖤓

   AFTER TREPIDATION GOT THE BEST of her, Enyo ended up arriving to The Last Drop two hours earlier than she had originally planned.

The evening is only beginning to wind down into twilight, the smog-obscured sky beginning to erupt with the furious reds and oranges of sunset before settling down into a sickly plum that heralds nightfall. Lights flicker on in flats as the downstairs shops bolt their doors until morning, chaos slithering out of the overcast fissures to run rampant through the streets. She pulls the collar of her jacket up a little higher around her neck and tries to swallow the regret necrotising upon her tongue, shouldering through the asphyxiating crowds with a single motive playing on her mind.

As she trudges through the city, Enyo doesn't bother searching the skyline for stars anymore — she knows that it's futile for anything beautiful to try and survive in the Undercity. Instead, her walk is spent with eyes pinned to the concrete beneath her feet, choosing to revel in the horrors that have been laid to rest in her home soil.

  The street corner widens out onto a broader square which is overwhelmed by the glow of an eye-shaped sign. Her hands twitch at her sides and she cracks her knuckles to keep them busy, popping all the joints along her fingertips to try and release some of that pent up tension. Every step toward the door jolts her flesh against the jagged edges of her rings, her cuts and scrapes aching in a way that grounds her when her heartbeat begins to quicken.

Though, when she steps across the threshold, it seems that she's been worrying over nothing. Aside from a smattering of early birds and ambitious drinkers, The Last Drop is barren, a mere graveyard of the wild night that had transpired before. Round tables and gnarled chairs are askew on the sticky floorboards, as well as a few booths that have been wedged into the corner, lit by candles with rundown wicks. It suddenly feels a lot dimmer without the bright lights on, relaxing some of the tension in Enyo's shoulders as she sweeps through the bar with more ease.

She finds a free seat at the desolate bar, swinging her legs over it and scraping the toe of her boot along the floorboards absentmindedly. Her cheeks puff with a sigh as she looks around, her jaw propped up against her palm, slotting uncomfortably against the grooves of her scars.

   She's beginning to regret coming altogether, doubting her suitability for the cryptic job Silco has planned. Sure, Enyo's killed before — however, that was for Abel, for her own satisfaction and revenge. What if she can't go through with it, what then? Silco ends up disposing of her and she's just another tally on his long list of inconveniences? After all the suffering and tribulations, that's really what she's destined for? Gods, maybe she should just pack up and move to Ionia or something. . .

   Yeah, right. Her and what money?

She jolts in her seat as a glass is placed down in front of her with a gentle clink! that contrasts the coarseness of the bartop. When she looks up, Enyo finds a pair of pale green eyes looking back at her and she falters, taking a minute to study the older woman who's standing across from her.

   Her face is weathered by smile and frown lines alike, a few faded scars scattered upon her  sallow complexion. Her ash brown hair has been wrangled away from her face, tied back by a fraying scarf to keep it out of the way during her shift. The only thing in particular that jumps out to Enyo is the ebony jewellery draped across her face, unlike anything she's ever seen, yet highlighting the woman's features in a sharp, flattering way that Enyo can't help but admire.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you," the woman chuckles, slinging a rag over her shoulder. "You're the newbie, aren't you? Ran was talking about you earlier."

Enyo laughs nervously, nodding. "All good things, I hope," she tries to joke. She hopes that she doesn't sound as hysterical as she feels.

The woman hums, leaning against the bar with an easy smile on her lips. "I'm Zivana. Welcome to the team, kid."

   "Dunno if I've made it that far yet," Enyo replies dryly, though her own face twitches with the ghost of a smile. "But thanks. Name's Enyo."

    "Nice to meet you, Enyo," Zivana replies genuinely, her voice soft as if she's trying not to scare her off. She picks up one of the glasses that she'd set down and resumes cleaning it. "So, how're you feeling about your first day?"

    A beat of hesitation. "Honestly?"

Zivana nods for her to continue but the apprehension must shine through on her face, since she quickly adds, "I'm a bartender, after all. It's my job to listen. Get it off your chest now, kid, before it's too late."

After yet another encouraging nod from her, Enyo huffs and continues softly, "I'm not looking forward to it. No idea what I'm getting myself into with this shit. . . I just know that there's no way of getting out."

Zivana watches her and for once, Enyo doesn't squirm under the scrutiny. She's set down the clean glass and rests her palms flat across the bar, gauging her expression in a way that doesn't feel calculative or condescending. In her searching eyes, Enyo sees something that she's only ever witnessed from Abel: concern.

   "I get that. It's not an easy job to do," Zivana says softly. Her voice then drops so that only Enyo can hear her clearly. "And, between you and me, Silco is not the best boss." She taps the side of her nose. "Don't tell him I said that, though."

   Enyo laughs, a genuine smile poking through the nerves and anguish that have been hounding her all day. She's thankful that there's at least someone in this place that she can get on with — other than Ran, of course. It's an ideal way to kick off her first night on the job, like some good luck charm that causes her shoulders to lift with hope.

Their smiles soon fade and their laughter submerges into the glacial silence around them, broken only by the staticky hum of a faraway jukebox. Something about Zivana's tone shifts as she folds her arms and looks away, tracing over some graffiti carved on the bar top. The contemplative look glazing over her eyes makes Enyo scared to breathe too heavily, lest she derails that trundling train of thought. Eventually, she comes back down to earth and flashes another fleeting smile her way.

   "I'd say that you've got nothing to worry about," Zivana says sagely, "but I don't want to lie to you. Stay safe out there, honey. Things can get out of hand before you have time to react, y'know?"

   Enyo's heart sinks a little. "Thanks," she replies. "I, uh, I'll keep that in mind."

   She glances over her again. It's like she's looking for any rifts in her facade, searching for any visible ruptures that need patching up. As if she's trying to fix the defects that splinter Enyo's surface and make her feel better. It's an alien kindness that makes Enyo feel a little apprehensive. She isn't used to people being nice to her out of the goodness of their hearts. No, there always seems to be some kind of a catch. . .

Enyo can't help but wonder whether or not Zivana would look at her the same way if the blood on her hands was still visible, smeared across the bar as tangible evidence, proclaiming her crimes. Would the kindness be so unreserved if she could be seen as the killer that she is? Would she be met with a flicker of hesitation instead, or be kept under a watchful eye in case she tries anything?

She doesn't feel deserving of her kindness. It just makes her feel like a fraud, or something.

   Enyo clears her scratchy throat, suddenly aware of the vaguely uncomfortable silence that's been spindling between the two of them. She straightens up and shifts awkwardly on her barstool, urging Zivana to do the same.

"C'mon, what do you want to eat while you wait?" Zivana asks. When Enyo shoots her a puzzled look, she laughs. "You look hungry. I'll make you something on the house."

   "Why?" she asks before her mind can catch up with her mouth.

   Zivana raises her eyebrows. "Well, I don't want you going out there with an empty stomach. You'll need energy if you're gonna be working all night."

Where has she heard that before?

"I—" Enyo shakes her head. "No, it's okay. That's too generous, I can't ask you to do that."

"Seriously, kid. You're wasting away. I'm gonna make you a sandwich, okay?"

Enyo goes to protest, only for the woman to turn away from her and immerse herself in the task at hand, apparently dead set on fixing her something to eat. It becomes clear that she's not taking no for an answer, so Enyo just sinks back into her barstool and tries not to feel too guilty for putting her through the trouble.

"Thank you," she calls through to her as an afterthought, twisting all of her rings a little nervously.

    She drums her fingertips along the bar top, watching as Zivana gets to work in the makeshift kitchen they have propped up behind the bar. Distantly, she hears her ask a man called Thieram to get her a glass of water and she flushes, rubbing the back of her neck sheepishly as he obligingly slides one down the bar towards her. It's not long before Zivana's back with a chipped plate balancing on her hand and a mindful smile on her lips, looking as though she's approaching a wounded animal and not a grown woman.

The sandwich itself isn't anything special, just two pieces of plain bread lathered with butter and a slice of meat wedged inside, but it means so much to Enyo in that moment. She's not used to kindness feeling unconditional and something about it is making her hands go all shaky.

    "Thanks," Enyo chokes out again, the words practically clawing out of her throat.

   Zivana waves her off. "You don't have to thank me."

   They don't really talk for the next hour or so as she finishes off the sandwich, both of them being equally as lost in thought, but Enyo's content to just watch as Zivana works behind the bar. There's something therapeutic about overseeing someone with some semblance of structure in their life — even if that's only the surface level truth. Whatever the case, it makes no difference to Enyo; she'll take comfort anywhere she can find it, at this point.

   When the shattered face of her watch begins running closer to ten, she slips off of her barstool and says a quick goodbye to Zivana, who wishes her luck as she delves deeper into the bar. She reckons that she's gonna need it. Her stomach is in knots as she advances up the creaky stairs, her knife burning hot in her pocket with every daunting step closer to Silco's office.

The door soon looms over her, daunting and broad, impossibly dark against the peeling grey wallpaper. She hesitates for a minute too long, shooting a cautionary glance toward her watch to check how much time she has left. Almost as if putting off the inevitable will lighten the gravity of her situation. For a second, she even contemplates pinching herself to prove that this isn't some kind of wild fever dream.

   Deep breath. In, out. Even deeper breath. In, out, in, out. . .

She goes to push the door when it suddenly swings open, her outstretched hand hanging limply in the air. Enyo retracts it as quickly as she can and takes a step back, her eyes snapping up to meet a glare that's the same stormy hue as a tempest and twice as furious.

   The woman before her is at least a head taller, looking down at her through thick lashes and a steely scowl that makes Enyo's mouth dry up. A network of electric blue scars jet across her cheek, tributaries of torn tissue that form lightning strikes upon her bronze skin. Her dark hair has been pulled out of her face into a half-up style, every razor sharp contour of her bone structure highlighted beneath the dingy hall lighting. Enyo feels a little more breathless now and she doesn't think it's because of how she had just legged it up the stairs, two steps at a time.

   She recognises her immediately — who wouldn't? After all, Sevika's name is renowned throughout all of Zaun, echoed in whispers within every gash and pore of the city. Enyo doesn't exactly know how to react, so she just squares her shoulders and tips her chin up to hold her glare.

"You're with me," Sevika says gruffly, giving her a harsh once-over. "Don't slow me down."

   Enyo's composure is knocked back into her. She raises her eyebrows at the bluntness of Sevika's words, blinking in surprise.

    "Damn, okay," she breathes.

Sevika doesn't give her any more acknowledgment. She starts down the stairs without her and Enyo scrambles to keep up, having no time to wonder why she isn't getting her orders from Silco or any kind of warning for what she's diving into. It looks as though she's gonna have to wing it for now, judging from the way Sevika seems to be treating her as though she's totally invisible.

   They're out of The Last Drop in no time, sweeping down side streets and ducking down alleyways that Enyo didn't even know existed. Zaun passes her by in a hazy blur as she focuses on trying to match Sevika's rapid footfalls, scurrying in her wake as the dense crowds part to let her stride through.

   "Where are we going?" Enyo hazards.

   Sevika huffs. "I should be doing this alone," she mutters spitefully, more to herself than anyone else.

   Enyo glares. "That's not an answer."

She angles her head to the side ever so slightly, considering Enyo from the corner of her eye. Within her cinereous irises flashes a warning but Enyo doesn't take heed of it, continuing to stand her ground with an expectant look flashing across her own face. Sevika scoffs at the nerve.

   "A warehouse."

   "Right, a warehouse," she repeats. "Why?"

   "You ask too many questions."

   Enyo hates how clearly she can hear herself in those words. "Well, I'm gonna need some answers if you want this job to go well."

   Sevika continues to glare at her out of the corner of her eye as if sheer willpower will make her go away. Enyo knows that she's pushing it by giving her attitude, surprised that her head is still attached to her shoulders, but there seems to be something unspoken that's holding Sevika back from gutting her like a fish. She briefly wonders if Silco said something and feels a nip of shame coursing through her veins at the very idea.

    "Some guy down in the Lanes has been fucking with our Shimmer production," Sevika grumbles curtly. She hesitates. "He also killed a Vyx girl a few weeks back and it's drawing too much attention. Silco needs us to get rid of him."

   Enyo hums. "See, was that so hard?"

   If looks could kill. . .

They continue down the street in silence with only the clattering cacophony of the Zaun nightlife to fill in the gaps. Enyo hangs a few paces behind to avoid incurring her wrath any more than she already has, mulling over the vague details she's been given in her head as they walk. She feels a fluttering of revulsion in her gut at the mention of a murdered Vyxen, too many memories of close calls and heavy bruises flooding back to her. That girl could've been her, once upon a time. Enyo lets the thought moulder in her brain for a while — food for her fears.

  Her familiarity with the area sputters out the further they delve into the inky darkness of the Undercity, the architecture growing repetitive as the streets grow more enervated. The streets slant as they begin to go downhill, the uneven pavement breaking off into rickety staircases that screech with every step. The grizzled path before them is laden with cogs and steelwork, which ooze igneous sulphur onto the concrete. Enyo realises that she's being dragged deeper into the bowels of the Undercity by Silco's right hand, unknowingly headed toward her death, or something much worse.

    She finds herself surrounded by a myriad of congested drains, her flesh seared with killer heat as she slips on past the exposed pipes. Purple veins, wild eyes, pearly flesh tearing straight off the bone. Enyo just barely dodges the outstretched hand of a Shimmer-head, stumbling slightly over the uneven cracks of the pavement. She can't help the way her knuckles whiten around the hilt of her knife, a frown etching on her face as she leaves them to fester on the street corner.

Her pace quickens to make up for how it has faltered and when she glances up, she's surprised to see Sevika already staring at her. Enyo quirks a challenging brow, prompting her to look away with an intensifying scowl.

   Enyo's breathing relaxes as they come to a standstill. "This it?"

   Sevika glowers. She takes that as a yes.

   The warehouse is dilapidated, built up by brindled bricks that are teetering under the burdens of age and poor craftsmanship. The building before her looks as though a strong gust of wind would knock aside, the windows boxed in by solid iron shutters — all except for one, just barely resting ajar at side of the building. She tilts her head as she calculates where the bricks jut out enough for her to get a good grip, trying to scope both sides to save herself the trouble of fully walking around the perimeter.

She's so lost in thought that she almost forgets about the glowering brute who's sulking at her side, only reminded when her gruff voice rings out around the empty street.

"We need to make this quick," Sevika says. "I'll distract the target, and it's your job to get rid of him. Got it?"

Enyo blanches, whipping around to stare, wide eyed with her jaw dropped. "Me?"

She scowls impatiently. "That's why you're here, isn't it?"

Enyo returns the expression. "Yes," she says snippily. "Just didn't think it'd be so. . . hands on for my first job."

"Don't fuck this up," Sevika snaps, leaning forward to tower over her. "I'm not here to clean up your messes. That's on you."

"Oh, whatever," she scoffs, stepping away to look for the easiest way into the warehouse. Sevika watches her go, her expression pinched in a mixture of sheer disbelief and annoyance, before sweeping off toward the main entrance by herself.

Enyo assesses the wall in front her, looking up toward the very top window that's emanating an almost spectral glow. With a withering huff, she settles her fingertips in the worn down grooves of the first eye-level brick and begins to vault herself further up the wall. Her annoyances with Sevika and the situation begin to melt away, shoved onto the back burner, as she forgets herself in the throes of climbing.

Her scabbed-over bullet wound twinges in complaint when she begins to pull herself up, digging her heels into any visible nooks and crannies. She latches onto a drainpipe for dear life, her core burning like hellfire and her biceps beginning to twinge from the strain. The mantra of 'don't look down' rings around in her head, reminiscent of an echo chamber, but she can at least tell that she's putting more and more distance between herself and the ground with every passing brick.

   The window ledge continues to inch closer in her eye line, weeping with effulgent light that assaults her vision and makes her impaired iris sting. It takes every fibre of her being not to look away and end up eating concrete, her palms trembling against the wall as she perseveres through it all.

   To rub salt in the wound, the old pipe begins to creak beneath her body weight, the metal joints groaning as a thin coat of rust grates against her palms. Her heart sinks in her chest at the sound and the grainy feeling upon the pads of her fingertips, a colourful string of curses slipping from between her lips.

   She looks around for a straightforward way to clamber up onto the ledge, only to be met with empty space followed by a spine-crunching drop. So, with no better alternative, Enyo builds momentum to swing herself toward the ledge and just has to pray that her hands find purchase on the bricks.

Her whole body lurches from the jump, her tendons tangling and her skeleton clicking. She lands with a winded gasp, scrambling to squash herself through the gaping window and into the flickering fluorescents of the warehouse. A visceral ache is building from the brunt of the fall but she perseveres through the agony, rolling her shoulders and balancing her weight between both feet to avoid buckling altogether.

   There's a creaky old walkway beneath the window that she rolls onto with a delicate thud. Her hiss of pain is covered up by the hum of an industrial fan that seems to be beat up and choking, the whirring noise croaky enough to cover the pitter patter of her footsteps. Enyo can distantly gauge the target's nasally voice in the main warehouse below her feet, spotting two figures down on the ground and latching onto the sight.

"Ah, Sevika!" he exclaims, laughing anxiously as his eyes dart to focus anywhere but her. "What brings you all the way down here?"

   "Don't talk to me like we're friends," she replies shortly. "You know why I'm here."

   Enyo creeps across the walkway, light on her feet and as noticeable as a dewy wisp of mist. Her seeing eye darts between the shadows cast along the ground and where she's planting her feet, her breaths coming out in short puffs. She zones in and out of the conversation, preoccupied with trying to slip through the factory building as quietly as she can.

"This is all a simple misunderstanding," he pleads, his voice quivering with a faux Piltie accent. "I'm sure we can smooth things over, no? How about a drink?"

Enyo slips down onto a crooked flight of stairs. She can tell that Sevika's stalling for her benefit — this is her chance to prove herself, after all. Besides, Enyo has a sneaking suspicion that if things were going Sevika's way tonight, the target would already be bleeding out on the cold hard ground. She shivers at the idea. The point is: she'll have to hurry this up to save everyone the trouble.

She's made it down to the ground floor by now, swathed in the cold silks of shadow as she ducks behind a towering stack of crates. She hones in on the conversation at hand, listening to what Sevika has to say with a scornful twist to her lips.

   "Drop the act. You're not fooling anyone."

   Enyo lands on wobbly feet, her ankle twisting at an odd angle that makes her yelp slightly in pain. The man begins to turn but Sevika saves her skin, sending a calculated shove to his shoulder that knocks his focus back into her. Trying to move on from the injury as fast as she can muster, Enyo unsheathes her blade from where it had been sinking into her pocket, holding it tight in the curled apex of her palm.

   "Can we not talk about this like civilised adults?" the man pleads. He scurries backwards, struggling to back away from Sevika when she advances with slow steps. "I would never intend to cause any, er, harm."

   Hesitation is hot on her heels. Enyo feels a jab of humanity prodding at the rotten gap betwixt her rib and her clavicle, leading her to speculate about the victim before her. It's obvious that the man is delusional, his eyes heavy from a Shimmer high and his cheeks sunken from hunger. She wonders if taking his life is worth it, or if it'll just be another thing to keep her tossing and turning at night. . .

Only, Sevika angles her head downward, a pensive flicker coming alight in her irises the way a flame coruscates on the end of a matchstick.

"Mm. Is that what you said to the Vyxen before you blew her brains out?"

Enyo watches as his good nature melts away and he dissolves into full blown, guilt ridden panic. Mauve spittle goes flying from his mouth whilst his voice raises to a grating shout. The pleasantries from before sour on his tongue and his accent reverts back to one that's Zaunite in nature, his fists balling as he takes a lumbering step forward.

"That whore was asking for it!"

Enyo feels her hesitation sweep away like the swelling breakdown of a wave against the shoreline. Her fingernails grate against the handle of her knife and her teeth bare in aggression as her calloused hand curls around his nape, her nails digging into his pulse point before she decides to seal his fate.

She doesn't think twice before plunging the blade into his neck, hacking straight through his carotid artery and showering herself in his blood. It weeps into the black fabric of her vest, warm against her paling skin as the life sputters from his dilated pupils.

    "Fuck," she breathes, taking a step back. "Fuck, that is a lot of blood."

Her knife clatters to the ground, trying to wipe it from her hands only for it to smear further up her forearms. Panic flares up within her like a nitrogen bubble, a parasitic toxin within her bloodstream that's come dangerously close to bursting. The scraping of boots against the floor brings her back to reality, her gaze snapping up to follow Sevika's movements opposite her.

   "Calm down." Sevika wipes a few droplets off her own cheek with her free hand. Her eyes harden. "You cut out for this, or not?"

Truthfully? No. She's terrified and she wants to go home more than anything, Silco's paycheck be damned, but she isn't going to tell Sevika that. She'd like to keep her dignity from bruising any more than it already has, thank you very much.

Enyo calms her hyperventilating in order to sneer. "Yeah," she snaps. "'Course I am."

"Then start acting like it."

    She steels herself. Her expression slackens, an exclamation of terror forced back down her throat as she feels the cruor drying alongside her own scars. The last thing Enyo wants to do is make a fool of herself in front of Sevika and give her something else to look down on her for.

   "Fine. Tell me what to do." The compliancy comes easy and it makes her skin prickle with an unwanted familiarity.

    At those words, Sevika's dark lips are ghosted by the devil's grin, and Enyo can practically feel herself taking one step closer to damnation.

She swallows thickly. What has she gotten herself into?

AUTHORS NOTE

idfk what this chapter was i just needed an excuse to crowbar sevika into this plot and make them bicker for no apparent reason ❤️

this chapter features itsjinxus oc, zivana! go give her fic some love, she's so talented and deserves sm more attention <33

as always, pls remember to leave a comment if you enjoyed! i love hearing your feedback and thoughts, ily all so much. i hope you enjoyed this one