Chapter Text
You try to not let it get to you. You really, honestly try to not let that brooding, stupid, big eared man get to you. You try to forget that he let you pin him down. That he stared into your eyes for longer than a regular person would. Who cares if he smells like flowers. You certainly don’t, that’s for sure.
If nothing else, it gives you a necessary distraction from the letter left in your apartment. That is a… problem. But what the hell can you do about it? Tell Ekko? From what you’ve seen, the man will probably take you on as his own personal mission; desperate to find a way to free you from your demons. You don’t want that, not even a little bit. What you want is to leave every part of your life behind and start fresh with the Firelights.
Chross found your apartment, he didn’t find you. He’ll have no reason to think you’ve started working with the Firelights, so your safe. Er… mostly safe. As safe as you can be from a man who has a whole goddamn army of soldiers hired for the sole purpose of gathering intel on people. And you’re clearly a bigger target than you thought you were. Maybe it was foolish to think he’d let you leave; Chross isn’t one to let his ‘possessions’ slip from between his shriveled, boney fingers.
You pick yourself up from the floor of the training room. Everything is fine, you tell yourself, desperately clinging to the mantra like a learned monk. Besides, there isn’t anything you can do right now. Except get my mask. Right! Jordyn said they’d be finished today. That’s a perfect distraction from both the Hush Company and your current chirean-shaped problem—you aren’t sure which is more pressing, honestly.
After a quick shower, you dress yourself in your own clothes, finally. You had forgotten how nice it was to wear something that was both clean and your own. Your sweater may be ratty and stained but it’s your sweater dammit and you slip it over your head with a sense of pride. What have I become? Someone who’s proud to wear their own clothes? Jannah help you. You run a comb through your hair and walk back to the courtyard towards Jordyn’s tent.
They smile as they see you approaching, hopping off their workbench with a thump. “I was wondering when you’d be gracing my presence this morning. How did it go at your apartment this morning?” You can tell they’re toeing around the more obvious question: Malia told me you pretty much shut down out of nowhere and said nothing the whole way home.
“It was fine, a bit weird being back for the last time, ya know?” You can not open this can of worms right now.
They eye you from the side as they reach to grab something from the table but don’t question you. “Right. Anyways, I’ve got your mask all ready for you. Let’s see it on.”
They take that widened stance again to get down to your level, gently slipping the mask over your face. You do your best to not dwell on the way their hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head up a few inches.
The mask fits snuggly over your face and you’re pleasantly surprised that you still have a full field of vision. “It feels good, does it look okay?” Your voice comes out distorted and echoed—must be the voice box Jordyn was talking about yesterday.
“Ya look great,” they smirk down at you, standing back up, “here, take a look.” They hold up a small mirror in front of you. The face of a white rat with large, dark eyes gazes back at you, and you… fucking love it. It feels right; all the nights you’ve spent sneaking in and out of small spaces, you find yourself surprised you’ve never thought to identify with the animal before Scar brough it up as an insult.
“Jordyn, this is amazing.” You slip the mask off.
“I didn’t wanna say anything, but in the moment a rat felt like a… er… bad choice. But it suits you, pip squeak.”
You bristle slightly, furrowing your brow at the nickname, “Pip squeak?” You aren’t that much shorter than them.
Jordyn laughs, “Yeah, my sister had a pet rat named Pip Squeak when she was a kid, fits you pretty good if you ask me.”
You cross your arms, letting the mask dangle in your hand, “I guess.” You mumble.
They put a hand on your shoulder, attempting to suppress a chuckle. “It’s affection, newbie, I’m not bein mean, promise.” Their face lights up as though they just remembered something. They mutter over their shoulder at you as they turn back to their workbench and fumble around, “I almost forgot. Lemme get you the clip.”
“Clip?”
“Yeah, for your mask. Gods damn it all, I just saw it.” They fumble for a few more moments before turning back, holding a small silver clip triumphantly in their hands. “Here, I’ll put it on.” You look down at them in abject horror as they kneel in front of you to fit the clip onto the waistband of your cargo pants. “It’s magnetic,” they continue, “If you slide your mask down on it, it’ll stay on till you slide it off. Designed it myself.” They wrap their large hands around your waist to pull themselves back up to standing, only letting go once they take a step back. “There, try it out for me?”
Unable to piece together a properly witty remark, you follow their instructions in silence. Despite your discomfort at their brazen proximity, it is pretty cool; the mask hangs securely off of your pants. You nod approvingly and muster up a smile. “It’s great.” You pause, completely unsure how to end this interaction. You eventually settle for, “Well, I gotta get to dinner.”
While you don’t actively slap your forehead with your hands as you walk away, you come pretty damn close. As if everything that happened today wasn’t enough, now you have Jordyn to deal with. Don’t flatter yourself, you scold, that’s just probably the way they are, right? You add it to the growing list of things you force yourself to not think about and walk into the mess hall.
Apparently, you’re late to dinner; nearly every table is full of Firelights. It is easy to forget just how many people live in this community, and how few of them are soldiers like yourself. A table of children catches your eye and its another good distraction. Ekko’s righteous speeches are beginning to worm their way into your brain, despite your best efforts to prevent it. Everything you will do for the Firelights is ultimately for these children, so they can grow up in a world that isn’t eating itself alive. Two days in and I’m already going soft, you think as you fill a plate up and sit down at a table of fellow soldiers.
You are so lost in your own thoughts when you sit down that you don’t even notice the argument until Scar’s drink is knocked onto the ground. He snarls at a soldier across from you and stands up.
“Scar. Sit back down.” It’s Ekko, the strength in his voice surprises you. It’s easy to forget how much of a leader he is.
To your complete surprise, Scar’s response is even harsher, “Don’t fucking start.” He storms out of the mess hall, leaving your whole table in stunned silence. You’ve seen him upset, sure, but never directed towards Ekko. Whatever happened must have been bad. Was it you? No it couldn’t be…
“What the hell is his problem?” You ask Ekko once the emotional temperature begins to cool.
“I wish I knew. He’s been in a shit mood evening.” He responds, his voice back to its normal cadence.
You chance a look at the man Scar was arguing with. You can’t blame him, you currently wanna yell at the big bat-eared man yourself. He has that way about him; that awful, innate ability to get under your skin without trying. Still, to see him this visibly upset? In your experience he is more of a quiet loathing type of angry as opposed to whatever it was he just did.
Conversation eventually returns to normal: discussions of raids, population growth, shimmer levels. You tune most of it out and continue eating your meal when your name draws you out of your reverie. It’s Ekko again.
“That sound okay?” He asks, his eyes searching yours.
“Hmm? Sorry.”
“The briefing. Tonight, in my workshop.”
You fumble to put his words to meanings in your brain. Right, tomorrow’s raid. You can distantly recall being told you’d be going on your first job on the way back from your apartment this morning, but you weren’t exactly in the headspace to take in any information.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” you finally respond.
Ekko smiles, “Glad to hear it.”
It is a small group gathered in his workshop, waiting for Ekko’s game plan in the quickly setting sun. Everything is coated in a soft pink hue, and you find yourself watching a small bug walk directly into a fly-eating plant, the jaws closing so slowly that the fly doesn’t even realize it’s being devoured. A shiver crawls down your spine as it finally closes shut.
You can put a name to every face you see in the room, which isn’t really that impressive considering there’s six of you waiting for Ekko’s arrival, but you give yourself the small victory. Scar is, as usual, leaning against a wall and looking like he’d rather be doing anything else. Malia and Eve are chatting in front of you and the other two soldiers are standing in silence. Everyone turns when Ekko walks in, giving him their full attention.
“Good to see you all here,” he looks around at everyone, eyes finally landing on you. You shift. He pulls out a floor plan and spreads it on the table in front of him, waiting for you all to gather around him. “We recently got a tip of a shimmer factory in the wharf district. It isn’t a huge operation so taking it down won’t be difficult.” He points to a door on the side of the building. “They stop production around midnight, and this is the only active entrance after they close down for the night. From what we can gather, it’s pretty understaffed, so getting in and out shouldn’t be a problem.”
One of the soldiers behind you speaks up, “How much are they producing. Like, how large of an operation is this place?” He points a finger to the map. “This building is massive.”
“Actually, not that much.” he looks at Ekko curiously. He continues, “but we do know it is a central hub for transfers out of Zaun and into foreign markets. Not only that, but we have reason to believe it is also used as a storehouse for other factories, meaning it’s connected.” He looks up at you, “If we can get any information out of this factory before we burn it down, we could get the location of several other factories around the undercity.”
“You want me to get into the overseer’s office?” You interrupt and the rest of the group turns to look at you. “Er… that is why you want me on this job, right?”
Ekko smiles that mischievous smile you find yourself growing to love, “That is exactly what I want you to be doing.” He turns back to the others. “The rest of you should focus on clearing the building out and getting rid of all the shimmer you can, let her handle the office. That okay with you?” You nod. Of course it’s okay with you, this is what you do best.
“And if the overseer happens to be in and decides to send out an alarm as soon as they see her?” Scar says. You glare up at him. He doesn’t even spare a glance towards you.
“Then I’ll handle it.” You bite back. Ekko glances between the two of you but says nothing.
“Right, well… You’ll head out tomorrow around 11:30. Does anyone have any questions?” Everyone shakes their head. “Great,” he claps his hands, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”
You turn to leave with the others, but Ekko calls your name. You bite back a groan, not in the mood for a lecture about Scar. “Are you comfortable with this? I’m sorry I put you on the spot back there. I know you’re used to stealing shimmer, so I assumed you would be okay getting documents instead. If you don’t think you can handle it, it’s okay.”
You stare at him for a second before answering, “What? Oh no. This is what I’m best at.”
He arches an eyebrow at you, “It is?”
“Yes… Er… how hard can it be right? Just some papers.” You purse your lips.
“You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He asks. It isn’t accusatory like you were expecting. He phrases it as any other question.
“Yes.”
“And you aren’t gonna talk about it, are you?”
“No.” You really, really don’t want to, “Unless I need to.” Fighting the urge to scratch at the branding, you cross your arms.
“I won’t force you, it just… might be nice to get some things off your chest is all.” If only he knew the half of it.
“Well, when I need a therapy session, I’ll be sure to come to you.” It is harsher than he deserves but you can’t really help it. His smile falters and he looks almost hurt. With nothing left to say, you turn and walk out the door, heading straight to your room. It’s been a long fucking day.
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You’re in a much better mood the next morning. The sunshine in the courtyard that hits your face as soon as you walk outside helps exponentially. As does your warm cup of tea and bowl of rice porridge. You can make this a good day. You’ll stick to your mental list, kick ass tonight, and go to bed a better person than yesterday, right?
You walk back into the courtyard after finishing your small breakfast to see a gaggle of kids sitting in a circle in the dirt. You had no intention of going up to them—you meant to go back to the training room. It isn’t that you don’t like kids, they’re… fine. You just don’t really know what the hell you’re supposed to say to them, always worried you’ll say something too violent without meaning it. Especially with these kids. Growing up with the Firelights is a hell of a lot different from growing up in the undercity.
So it comes as a surprise when a young girl who can’t be older than 4 runs up to you and tugs at the sleeve of your shirt. “You’re the new lady, right? My ma told me about you.” She smiles up at you, golden brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. Damned kids, they’re like vultures. Little, adorable vultures.
“That’s right,” you answer. Your voice isn’t exactly harsh… just uninterested.
“Come meet everyone!” She tugs at your sleeve to lead you back, and you let her despite yourself.
You crouch down to get eye level with the group that soon surrounds you. A small redhead looks at you with what must be the largest eyes you’ve ever seen. “I heard your name is Pip.” A girl next to him snickers.
“And who told you that?” You already know who it is. Damned Jordyn.
The kid slaps his hand to his mouth to try and muffle his laugh, “I’onno,” he says, feigning innocence.
You furrow your brows at the kid and he shrinks back a little. It twinges your heart to see so you stick a tongue out at him and his smile returns slowly. “Alright! You got me! My name is Pip Squeak. But you can’t tell the adults alright? I’m trying to work on my tough guy persona” You puff out your chest and flex dramatically. He laughs and the sound is like music to your ears. You reach out and grab his sides to tickle him. The kids around you erupt into hysterics.
“Get her!” one cries.
Suddenly, you find yourself completely swarmed by young children. You let them wrestle you to the ground. A girl with curly, blonde hair jumps onto your stomach and does her very best to tickle you back with her chubby, ungraceful fingers.
You gently push the kids off of you and stand up at full height, letting out the best monster noise you can manage. The kids scream playfully.
You sit back on the ground and they surround you with wide, curious eyes. “Well? You all know my name. It doesn’t seem fair that I don’t know your names.” The kids consider your request very seriously, murmuring and glancing between one another. Finally, the redhead speaks up. They go around the circle and rattle of their names in varying degrees of clarity. As you listen to them, that increasingly familiar pang of envy begins to gnaw at your gut. These kids don’t know how lucky they are, and you pray to the Gods that they never figure it out.
A young woman comes out of the door to a small wooden hut built into the wall. She walks over to your group holding a small bundle of fabric. “Alright kiddos, it’s nap time,” she says, her voice soft and melodic.
A collective groan erupts from the children surrounding you. One small voice speaks in protest, “Nooooo but we wanna hang out with Pip!”
The woman looks at you suspiciously, “Oh. Pip you say?” Her voice is playful. You can’t recall the woman’s name, but you’re certain you met.
You shrug your shoulders at her and ruffle the hair of the girl clinging to your leg. “How about I come with to get ready for your nap. Whaddya say?” This answer seems to satisfy the kids, and your group makes its way back to the hut. Inside you see what seems to be a nursery; toys and books fill the shelves lining the walls and a row of small cots are placed off to the far side of the room.
The woman turns to you as the kids begin to settle into their individual cots. “My name is Jess, by the way. I know they can be a handful; I appreciate you giving them your time.”
You shake your head earnestly, “Not at all!” You look down at the bundle in her arms and realize it’s the baby you saw Scar holding on your first morning here. “Is that Scar’s kid?”
She nods, “Yeah, this is Aster.” She looks down at the sleeping child and smiles. “Hey, I don’t mean to throw even more at you, but do you think you could hold her while I get the kids down for their nap?”
Before you can even answer she is placing the baby in your arms and walking back to the toddlers in their beds. You freeze, staring down at the creature in your hands completely unsure what to do. You don’t think you’ve ever held a baby before. Aster shifts at the sudden change but settles quickly in your arms. You go through what you think a baby needs while it’s being held: head is supported, she’s not upside down, you’re pretty sure she isn’t going to drop out of your arms. You can do this. You’ve killed people dammit, sold shimmer, run from enforcers. You can hold a baby for a few minutes while that poor, overworked woman deals with the kids she needs to look after—you aren’t really sure she’s overworked but you know you would be if you had five toddlers to take care of and a baby.
Aster begins to fuss in your arms, her tiny, chubby face contorting and she begins to whimper. You can handle this. You try to think what people do with babies. You remember Scar rocking her, so you do your best to rock back and forth, throwing in a “shhh” for good measure. By some miracle it works, and Aster begins to settle, her face relaxing and her quiet, pitiful whimpers subsiding. You smile down at her. She is really fucking cute. Like… sure, every baby is ‘cute’ but this kid… Wow. You realize, the longer you hold her in your arms, that she smells familiar. It takes you a second to place it and then it clicks. She smells like flowers. She is the reason Scar smells like flowers. You don’t really know how to process this information, but it makes your heart do funny things that you don’t like one bit.
You don’t even notice that Jess has tucked the kids in. “She’s a little angel, isn’t she?” Her voice is soft and quiet as she looks down fondly at the sleeping infant in your arms.
“Yeah.” You look back up at her, “I don’t know where she gets it, probably her mom. Can’t be from her dad.” You don’t even think about what you’re saying before the words leave your mouth. Oops. You bite your lip.
She laughs, “No, Scar is really great with her. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he gets a little misty-eyed every time he drops her off in the morning.” You look at her incredulously, of all the things you could picture Scar doing, crying is just above apologizing.
“Who is her mom, anyways?” You finally risk asking the question that’s been on your mind from the moment you saw Scar with the baby. Purely out of curiosity, you remind yourself, not for any other, more personal reason. You force yourself to remember the list. Not that it matters anyways, if anything you should feel sorry for whoever gets stuck with Scar.
“She… isn’t around anymore.” Jess’s once relaxed and open demeanor seems to shrink back a bit. You make a mental note to not push that anymore, with anyone.
You sigh gently, looking back to Aster. You need to leave and get ready for the day, but you find yourself wounded at the thought of leaving her. What the fuck is happening to you? Jess seems to notice your hesitation, “You can come visit whenever you want. I won’t tell Scar, Pip.” She uses the name affectionally and another part of you melts. Maybe I do like kids… who’da thunk it.
After prying Aster out of your arms and back into the much more experienced care of Jess, you return to your original goal of the training room. It is empty when you walk in, which you tentatively take as another good sign for today.
The punching bag seems to be mocking you as it sways lightly from its chains, so you resolve to show it no mercy. It is your kicks this time, not your punches, that takes the focus of your workout. It isn’t like you’re planning on fighting Scar again… but it would probably be good to be able to throw a few kicks without getting your ass handed to you.
By the time you finally leave you are dripping with sweat and exhausted, but you feel good, damnit. And no one came to interrupt, which is even better. You take a cold shower and spend the rest of your afternoon mentally preparing for tonight’s raid.
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Malia and Eve are already waiting near the hideout entrance when you make your way down. Malia smiles at you and Eve puts the butt cigarette she was smoking out on her shoe. “Didn’t know you smoked,” you say.
She shrugs and says nothing, silently offering you one. You shake your head, and she shrugs again, pulling a fresh one from her pocket.
You adjust the straps of the bag slung across your back. This actually feels pretty natural for you: waiting to break into a guarded facility. If you weren’t with the Firelights, this would feel exactly like any other night. You’re wearing your usual uniform of black, skintight clothes and wearing a bag big enough to put whatever you find away safely. The knife attached to your hip is a welcome, familiar weight. Really, it’s ironic how full circle you’ve come: stealing information to stealing shimmer and right back to stealing information. You laugh out loud, and Malia looks at you, you say nothing.
Ekko walks up with the rest of the soldiers to see the six of you off. He looks you up and down and a flash of concern ghosts over his usually bright eyes; you should apologize for how you acted yesterday. Not in front of everyone else, of course, but you make a mental note to talk to him later.
“Everyone feel ready?” His tone is normal which makes you feel a bit better—not that you thought he was one to skulk. You all nod in agreement. He goes over the plan one last time before opening the door and watching as the six of you walk away.
The sounds of footsteps echo down the stone tunnel as you walk. Your torchlight illuminates Scar as he leads the group down the tunnel, his large back blocking most of your vision. It feels wrong to break the quiet, but you can’t stand to walk in silence and resolve to making small talk with Malia who walks besides you.
The wharf is close enough that you don’t take hoverboards—which you would have much preferred even just to show off your improvement—and it only takes a few minutes by foot before you are standing outside of a massive building. The smog of the city always mixes eerily with the mist rolling off of the water and the red lights glowing outside of the factory adds to the unsettling atmosphere.
“Can’t believe this was under out noses the whole time,” Eve’s voice is distorted slightly from her mask, and it reminds you to slip your own over your head.
“We can’t go around checking every building in Zaun,” says the soldier wearing a cat shaped mask behind you.
“Still. I’ve probably walked past this godsdammed place a thousand times and they’ve been shipping out shimmer the whole time. Pisses me off.”
“Will all of you shut up?” It’s Scar’s voice. You had forgotten how fucking sinister he looks in his own mask—not that he isn’t terrifying without it. “Malia, you take out the guards at the door. The rest of us will follow in once they’re down. You,” he looks at you now, “don’t fuck it up, got it?”
“I can handle myself,” you hiss. This fucking asshole.
Malia is already walking towards the guards, her demeanor completely different from her prim, postured norm.
She stalks over towards the two guards sitting outside of the door, keeping low to the ground. They don’t notice her until she lets out a long, low whistle. One of them picks his head up and calls out into the night. Malia says nothing and continues her slow advance, this time standing up straight.
The other man notices her finally and flicks his cigarette onto the ground. “You better turn around and go back to where you came from,” he calls menacingly.
Malia snaps her head to a harsh angle, staring the man down, almost like a crow. Right, duh. Makes sense, that’s her mask.
Suddenly, faster than the men can react, she rushes them and plunges a knife into each neck. They don’t even have a chance to yell before they topple to the ground, choaking on their own blood.
Your group begins to advance slowly. Sure, you could follow them into the main room, wait for them to clear out any goons, before finally being allowed to go into the overseer’s office once they’ve made sure its safe for you, like Scar would probably prefer. Or you could do it your way. You like the second option much better
Breaking off from the group as they enter the now unguarded door, you scramble up a low wall and onto a small window ledge. Gently, you pry the window open and drop into the warehouse, silent as a cat. You find yourself on a high balcony overlooking the factory floor. Barrels of shimmer sit in rows below you. You take a moment to situate yourself from what you can remember of the floorplans you looked at last night. If you’re here… then… Right. The door at the end of the balcony must be the entrance to the hallway that leads to the office. This is child’s play, you think.
You walk down the balcony, keeping yourself low to the wall. Footsteps around the corner catch your attention. You duck behind a pile of boxes, and you silently pull your knife out of your belt, just in case. You don’t exactly like killing people, but you’re not against it if the situation demands a bit of violence. Luckily, the man rounds the corner and keeps walking, completely oblivious to your presence. You wait a moment for him to be out of earshot before slipping from your hiding spot and continuing down the balcony.
Carefully you open the door to the hallway and slink inside. The door at the end of the hallway must be the office and a rush of confidence surges through your veins.
Getting inside is painfully easy, the damned door isn’t even locked. The room is nice, you suppose, but you’ve seen better; this factory is pretty clearly a low-level supplier. Finding the information isn’t too difficult either. Once you make it inside of the pathetically locked filing cabinet, you are rewarded with several folders full of papers and a quick glance at them confirms that they are, in fact, records of dealings with other factories and warehouses. Ekko’s information was sound.
You turn to leave, feeling very smug, when a small, locked case above your head catches your eye. It is slightly out of reach, so you hop onto the filing cabinet to pick the lock. It is harder to crack which makes you even more intrigued; whatever is in here must be worth safeguarding. Just as you click the final pin in place, Scar’s sharp voice catches your attention.
“Kirranari!” You whip around, nearly falling off the cabinet. “You were supposed to stay with the fucking group,” he bites from behind his mask.
The door to the case opens before you get a chance to ask him what the hell he called you. You turn back to see what it is you gained access to. It’s a case full of… alcohol? That’s what this overseer was so intent on keeping safe and not the pages and pages of confidential dealings?
You are about to tell him off when the same man you saw on the balcony rounds the corner. He startles when he sees the two of you and whips out a pistol from a holster along his chest.
You know you should jump out of the way, or duck, or something, but you find yourself frozen. His face… You didn’t see it before, but there is no mistaking it. The harsh angle of his once broken nose or the scar running down the side of his face; this is absolutely one of Chross’s enforcers. You can recall so clearly the smarmy grin on his face whenever you were brough into his office for one of your many fuck ups. Your stomach churns uncomfortably. What the fuck is he doing here? I thought this was one of Silco’s factories.
A bullet fires from the pistol, and you don’t even react until it wizzes past your ear, imbedding itself into the wall just a few inches from your head. The man is dead on the ground before you can think to move, Scar standing over him, bloodied spear in hand.
He whips around and walks over to you. Heavy hands coming down on your shoulders brings you back to reality, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You don’t have an answer.
Once again, bile threatens to spill up from your gut. You force it back down. “S-sorry, I just… wasn’t thinking.” Your voice is much weaker than you want it to be.
“You could have fucking died and all you have to say is that you weren’t thinking?” He shakes you, claws digging into the sides of your arms.
He’s right, you think, bitterly. The letter has you jumpy. For all you know, the guy stopped working for Chross after you left. And even if he still did, it’s not like he could recognize you under the mask. Pull yourself together.
You let out a long, low sigh, still looking up into Scar’s mask. “I found booze!” You say, bringing an arm up as far as you can with his hands still holding you in place—as though that negates what just happened.
He snarls and lets you go with a shove. “Don’t fuck around like that again,” he says before walking out of the office and back towards the balcony, stepping over the body in the hallway.
You will yourself to snap out of it as you place the bottles into your bag alongside the folders. You don’t know exactly what the alcohol is, but it looks strong and expensive, which is exactly what you need.
You are met by the other soldiers on the floor of the factory. “Any luck?” Malia calls when she sees you approaching. Scar must not have told her.
A nod, “Yeah, tons of information. I’ve got it all in here.” You throw a thumb back towards your bag and she gives you an approving thumbs up.
They make quick work of sloshing cans of gas around the factory and once everyone is our, Eve lights a match from her pocket and tosses it into the building. Fire catches immediately and it isn’t long before flames begin to lick at the sides of the shimmer barrels. No one remains long enough to watch it blow especially knowing the crowd such a large fire will attract, and you are all several meters away when an explosion sounds.
You gnaw on your lip beneath your mask the whole trip back, reducing it to a bloody lump. I need to figure my shit out, now. This stupid anxiety is beginning to become a serious problem. Private panic attacks you can handle, but nearly dying in front of Scar? Really, being in any state of venerability in front of him is a problem, regardless of whether or not it’s life threatening.
You adjust your bag without thinking and clinking of bottles in your bag drags you from your thoughts and Eve shoots a look back towards you. “Doesn’t sound like papers in there.”
“She found alcohol in the office,” Scar says, not turning back as he leads your group through the mazes of tunnels.
Malia perks up, “Oh shit really? Is it any good?”
“I couldn’t really say, but it was locked up like it was.” You say, reaching into your bag and pull a bottle out, handing it to her.
She adjusts her light onto the label, “Holy fuck. This stuff is really expensive. Good find, Pip.”
You groan, “Not you too.” Fucking Jordyn. She shoots a masked look back at you and giggles, jogging off to show the man in the cat mask, who hums appreciatively.
Most of the hideout has gone to bed by the time you return, but you’re greeted with a small welcome party. You slide your mask back onto your belt and smile at them, desperately trying to put the last few hours behind yourself. Sure you almost died, but you got what you needed from the factory, that’s something, right?
You pull the folders out of your bag and hand them to Ekko who flips through them quickly. “Holy shit. This is huge, I can’t thank you enough,” he says and hands them to a woman next to him, asking her to take them back to his workshop to look at later. Malia calls you back to the group and you oblige.
You see Scar pull Ekko aside. The conversation looks heated, but you don’t have the energy or the drive to try and listen in. If Scar has a problem with you, he can say it to your face.
Once greetings are finished and Scar and Ekko have rejoined the group, you pull a couple bottles out of your bag and hold them up for everyone to see. “Anyone up for a bit more?” Not a single person denies your offer and a few minutes later everyone is crowded around a table in the empty mess hall.
Jordyn emerges from the kitchen with a tray of assorted, unmatching cups and you begin to pour out healthy servings of the alcohol into each. You give Jordyn a questioning look with an arched eyebrow, pausing at the cup in front of them. They smirk and nod wordlessly. So much for not touching anything.
Ekko holds his own cup up and everyone looks at him expectantly, “To a job fucking well done.”
Cheers erupt around the table, and everyone takes a drink. You down your drink in one gulp and—to your surprise—so does Scar. Malia wasn’t lying when she said this stuff was strong and you wince as it burns a path down your throat and into your belly.
You don’t intend to drink as much as you do, but as soon as Jordyn pulls out a deck of cards and proposes a drinking game, you know you’re done for. The rules don’t make sense even after they are explained several times to you and you find yourself losing more than anyone in the group, which doesn’t help in your confusion.
After about three shots too many you realize it may not be the worst idea to get some food in your stomach—anything to soak up the alcohol. As soon as you stand, it’s as if all the alcohol you have consumed throughout the night finally decided to kick in and… woah. You can’t remember being this drunk. Come to think of it… you can’t remember much of anything.
You stumble towards the general vicinity of the kitchen and begin rooting around for something to eat. Once the door is closed, the laughter and conversation from the table is muffled and you take a moment to drunkenly enjoy the silence. Only one light is on over the sink and it’s just so peaceful in here… what did you come here for again?
Food! Right.
Coordination, you find, is extremely difficult and it takes you three tries to get your hand on the cabinet door. You yank it open triumphantly and—not realizing how close your face was—proceed to smack yourself directly in the nose. “Owwwww,” you groan out, a hand going to clutch your aching nose.
A barking laugh startles you and you jump around, a yelp stifled under your hand. Scar is leaning against the counter looking annoyingly sober. “What the fuck do y’want?” Your words are slurred, and you struggle to keep him in focus, making your glare look more like a confused stare. Fuck, I’m wasted.
“Wanted to watch the show.” He folds his arms across his insanely broad and muscular chest. Damn. Has he always been this hot? You blink. Where the hell did that thought come from?
“Ya know… I should pro’bly thank you… for uh… savin my life.” You look up at his stupid, handsome face.
He angles his chin up and looks down at you. “You should.”
“But I won’t,” your giggle is light and hysterical and if you were sober in this moment you’d be kicking yourself for acting like a teenager. Get a grip, but your drunk mind refuses to heed any warning. You think you can remember having a list or something… what was it again? The memory is a blur, and you give up.
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t snarl at you like you were expecting. You turn back around and pluck a loaf of bread from the cabinet, shoving your hands into the bag and pulling a couple of slices out.
You turn around and hop up onto the counter to face Scar who is still standing there. Why is he here, anyways. He stares intently as you take a mouthful of the plain bread, chewing intently as you look back at him. Your brows furrow, with a mouth still full of bread you ask, “Why d’you hate me so much?” The question isn’t harsh, you genuinely want to know. “I mean, I know we got off on a bad foot or whatever,” your legs swing from under you, bouncing your heels against the base of the counter.
“I don’t hate you.” He sounds uninterested but not bored.
“You act like you do. You always have tha’stupid snarl on your face,” you take another mouthful of bread. Scar says nothing. “I just think you could stand to be a l’il nicer, s’all.”
The door of the kitchen opens and Jordyn pops their head inside, smiling when they see you. “Pip, I was missin you. Come on back.” They sound about as drunk as you are. You hop down from the counter and, after taking a moment to get your balance back, walk back into the mess hall.
The group is slightly smaller than when you started. Ekko has already left with Eve and a couple others, leaving only you, Jordyn, Scar, and the two other soldiers that came on your raid today. You plop down on the chair next to Jordyn and feel their arm fall over your shoulder. Maybe you should care, but it’s nice to have someone close to you. Especially as muscular as Jordyn. You’re pathetic. Scar would feel better. Bet he’s warmer. He was practically on fire yesterday in the gym.
The memory of the gym twists something strange and deep in your gut. You push your hair out of your eyes. Your clothes feel too tight, and the air around you feels too hot. You need to leave, to get some fresh air. Jordyn, mercifully, doesn’t react when you jump out of their grasp and stumble for the door. “M’ goin to bed,” you mumble before pushing out into the cool of the night.
You practically moan at the feeling of the night air on your skin; this is exactly what you needed. To be out of the noise and the heat and the people. It isn’t enough, you realize, you need more. Practically tripping over your feet, you make your way to the hoverboard that has been left out near the entrance to the mess hall.
“Don’t.” A familiar voice behind you calls, “you’re gonna snap your neck.”
“Am not,” you bite back to Scar, not realizing how fucking childish you sound. You place the board down and step into it.
Right before you can start it up, a hand wraps around your wrist. “I said don’t. I saved your life once today, don’t make me do it again.” A shiver rolls down your spine. What is this man doing to me?
“I-” words fail you as you look up into those green eyes. “M-maybe yeah…”
His brows furrow at something, but before you can ask, he is lifting your arm up and pushing your sleeve up. Your heart tuns to ice and your stomach clenches painfully as he gazes at the branding in your flesh. This is it, you think in a drunken, terrified blur, they’re gonna think I’m a spy, or untrustworthy, or even worse: pathetic. Gods, you don’t want that. You can’t bear the thought of pity.
Scar, seeming to notice the fear in your eyes, says nothing as he pushes the sleeve back down. “You need to get to bed.” His voice is soft and lacking its usual sharpness. You suck a breath in as all the tension leaves your body. Fuck. Your knees go out and you feel yourself tumbling towards the floor. He grabs you again, wrapping two large hands under your arms and hoisting you back up. “You’re wasted.” He sounds unamused.
“Nuh-uh.” Even you know it’s a lie. He just… looks at you. You push yourself out of his arms and start to walk back through the courtyard and to your room. You get about two steps before you stumble again and this time there is no large chirean to catch you.
He walks over and peers down at you. “You gonna let me help you? Or did you plan on crawling back to your room?”
You scowl at him. “I don’ need your help, pretty boy.” Gods damn it all, did you say that out loud? From the way his lips twist, you did. You slap a hand to your head, dragging it down your face. “Fine…” you mumble, cheeks burning.
Tentatively, you reach your hands up, expecting him to pull you back to your feet. So it comes as a complete surprise when he bends down and wraps one arm under your back and another under your knees to lift you completely, as if you weigh nothing. He must know what he’s doing, right?
You struggle in his arms for a moment—whether it is out of a genuine desire to be put down or simply to save face you don’t really know—and he only tightens his grip. “You couldn’t walk two steps; I don’t have the patience to watch you stumble all the way back. Now quit squirming.” His tone is surprisingly gentle, you stop resisting, leaning your head against his shoulder and take in his smell for the second time. It is still just as irresistible.
You’re quiet for a while and you realize that it is almost… nice? It’s nice to be carried by him; despite how absolutely insulting it is to your agency. You feel safe—which is not an experience you take lightly. “I met Aster this morning,” you finally say, voice quiet in the night air. He looks down at you for a moment but doesn’t stop walking. “I don’t really like kids but… she’s pretty sweet. An’ she’s lucky to have you as her dad… I guess.”
He lets out a woosh of air that could almost be considered a laugh. “Glad you think so.” You close your eyes and stay silent for the rest of the walk back to your bedroom.
He lays you down in your bed with a surprising amount of gentleness and you flutter your eyes gently open to see him staring down at you. There is a look of… something in his eyes. He turns to leave and you feel a pang of sadness. “Scar,” you call almost inaudibly. His ears twitch and he turns back towards you, “please don’t tell Ekko…”
You see in his gaze that he understands what you mean. The branding. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Kirranari.”
“Wait,” he stops and turns back to you, looking only slightly exasperated, “wha’s that? Kirranari? Ya said it back in the factory… I think.” The word stumbles from your lips in a butchered pronunciation compared to the way he says it, which is almost… reverent.
You can’t read his expression, “’One who sneaks’. It’s chireanai,” he rolls his eyes at your lack of comprehension. Hey, I’m drunk, not like it’s my fault. “It means ‘rat’.” He closes the door without waiting for your answer.
You fall asleep with a stupid, drunken smile on your face.