Chapter Text
(Pic by me at the end!)
It was well past evening outside the cannery when Silco and Harriot first met.
The narrow boardwalk along the piers was barren of life save for the massive creatures who dwelled beneath it. Cracked concrete littered with fallen bricks upheld a set of water-damaged wooden posts connected with heavy chains to prevent wayward drunks from falling into the channel. Every fifty feet stood a streetlamp, far too tall and much too old to do more than cast an unclear, jaundiced glow to anyone beneath.
As it was, only one person walked below the lamps that night. He took slow, long gaits, touching the top of each wooden pillar as they passed them by as if they gave him comfort. He held an open bottle, but it was full. He would occasionally bring it to his lips and then quickly lower it, changing his mind. He sang to himself - spirituals from the days before industrialization. He knew hundreds of them - an obscure fascination of his.
Silco stood watching him, back pressed to the building above the lab as he wasn't allowed to smoke cigars there. He did anyway, but he wanted time to clear his thoughts tonight. There was a lot on his mind to organize and the strange singing man wasn't helping.
"Just a few more weary days and then,
I'll fly away.
To a land where joys will never end,
I'll fly away.
I'll fly away, oh Glory,
I'll fly away.
When I die, Hallelujah by and by,
I'll fly away."
Even when sung with an oddly slurred voice, the song hurt. It was one often sung by miners to keep their strength during hard sunless days deep in the coal pits. It brought up old, unhappy memories that he’d buried deep into his psyche in hopes of them never resurfacing, but like with all old and painful memories, here they were again. Cold and sad and unwanted. He'd sung it alongside Vander over a decade ago and hadn't heard it since. He drew on his cigar and stepped closer to the walkway, watching the man without being seen himself.
A Piltie.
Short, neatly cut brown hair lay matted against his scalp. His white clothes - a common Piltover citizen's suit pants and shirt with suspenders, no jacket, with touches of gold and orange trim - were heavily stained with yesterday's blood. At one point it must have poured down his front, leaving thick rust red streaks hardening to his shirt and pants. Whether it was his own blood or someone else's wasn't certain, but there looked to be some kind of damage to his face. It was too hard to make out what it was from the poor lighting, but Silco assumed he'd been kneed in the teeth. That would explain the slurred singing, at least.
When the man began the next verse, he flinched to hear a second voice joining in from the shadows. He turned as looked in the direction, then continued the song as a duet. Might as well.
"Some glad morning, when this life is over,
I'll fly away.
To a home on God's celestial shores,
I'll fly away."
Silco stepped slowly into the lamplight, not in the direction of the Piltie but towards the channel. The singing stopped as the newcomer waited to see if he was a threat, but eventually reached the conclusion that it didn't matter. He pressed his back to one of the wooden pillars and slid down to the pavement, accepting whatever his fate would be.
Silco didn't look at him, instead leaning on the thick black chains to gaze out over the water.
"It's nice to hear the classics again." He said softly.
"It's nice to sing them with someone." Said the Piltie. Regular speech left no doubt that there was damage to his mouth - the blood was very likely his own. "Never knew anyone else who could sing them."
"You're from Piltover."
The man sighed. "Unfortunately."
Silco looked at him a little for that remark. He was curled with his arms hanging over his knees. The facial damage continued to elude his sight.
"It's unfortunate that you're from Piltover?" Silco confirmed.
"Worthless shithole." The man muttered. "Nothing but masks and curtains."
Now the man had Silco's full attention. He turned to face him, elbow leaning on a pillar, drawing on his cigar before deciding what next to ask.
"What's you name?"
"Harriot."
"Harriet?"
"Harr-ee-ought. Emphasis on the first and second syllables"
Silco knocked his ashes into the water. "It's no one's fault that you have a stupid name."
"Are you going to rob me? Because I don't have anything to rob. I have nothing."
"A Zaunite takes time to talk to you and you accuse him of robbery. How racist."
"Racist? We're the same…." Harriot stopped himself and sighed. "Sorry. I'm all weak and shaky now. No good for conversation. I've lost a lot of blood and haven't eaten and had the worst damn day of my life. If you ARE gonna rob me, might as well kill me, too. Sell my organs. They'd be better used to help someone else than me."
There was a long pause after this. Silco eventually stepped closer, stopping only a few feet away. Harriot kept himself curled, too deep in despair to look up.
"What happened to you. Why are you here." Those weren't questions.
"The counsel fucked me over." He muttered. "They bought the property I owned, passed down from my dad to me, sold it to someone else without any way to stop them. So I… snuck into the main building and busted that huge window in their committee room. Fuckin' shattered that thing."
"You… made it inside the counsel building and vandalized it?"
"Yeah."
"Is that right." Again, not a question.
"Damn right it's right!" He cried. He sat upright and faced Silco for the first time. Even in the low light the damage such an act of minor terrorism had permanently left on him was nothing but horrific. Silco couldn't help but stare, though he remained expressionless.
"The guards rushed in." Harriot continued. "Night guards. Fresh out of training. I thought they'd just kill me or arrest me, but they had the bright idea to throw me over the desk and… cut my head off. With one of those… ceremonial swords."
His head lowered. Saliva pooled around his jawline.
"But they missed."
No one spoke for a long while. Harriot turned his back against the pillar again, drowning in his own sadness. Silco went back to looking over the pier, shoulders tense. His fingers drummed the top of the post as something wedges itself uncomfortably in his mind.
"They were scared, the dumb pups. They threw me in the channel, and I somehow swam here. The bleeding stopped and I don't know why I'm still alive, but…."
He choked, doing his best not to break down.
"So if you're gonna kill me at least-"
Without warning, Silco casually gripped his fingers into Harriot's light brown hair, pushing his head down as he jabbed his cigar into the back of his neck. Harriot shrieked and threw himself into the pathway, gripping the back of his neck.
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT??"
"Because you're too stupid to realize what happened to you."
Silco's knee slammed into his chest, pinning him to the ground. His fingers squeezed into his bisected cheeks and shattered teeth, wrenching his face up and blasting white hot streaks of pain. Harriot grabbed his wrist and fought but he didn't have the energy. Despite being easily twice Silco's volume, he was easily subdued by one hand and a knee.
"Listen to me. LISTEN."
Harriot stopped struggling, though he remained tense and trembling from the pain. He whimpered softly.
"Stop making that noise. Look at me."
Harriot forced his eyes open. He could see Silco's dual colored eyes from an inch away. Silco waited until his target ceased panicking to continue. The wounds on Harriot's face reopened, causing fresh blood to seep under Silco's fingernails.
"What you've experienced is not a tragedy. You have seen first hand what your city is, felt it's blade attempt to silence your voice, but it failed. It is powerful, but in the end incompetent. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes."
"They wanted you dead. They shamed you, stole from you, ignored you, and when you demanded justice they mutilated you and left you for dead. But you are NOT dead. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"What you have experienced is not a tragedy. What you have is a blessing. You have been gifted sight. You have seen your city as it really is and you have survived. Your voice is intact, and it is strong."
"Yes."
"You have more than survived. You have been rebirthed."
"..."
"Do you understand?"
"Yes."
Silco let go of Harriot's face. His head snapped back to the pavement in relief, gasping in cold burning air against his exposed broken molars. Silco sat up, keeping his knee against Harriot's chest for the time being. He wiped his bloody fingers off on Harriot's shirt before pulling a few crumpled bills from his back pocket. He pressed them into Harriot's hand, folding his fingers around them.
"Go up this street and take your second right. About a mile straight onwards you'll see a narrow green building with iridescent pressed glass for windows and the name '"Tolstoy's" in neon. Give them this. Tell them Silco sent you. Here.”
He stood and held his hand out. With caution Harriot took it, standing up and staring at his unexpected savior like a nervous dog.
"Do you remember all that?"
"Down the street, second right, straight, narrow green building on left, Tolstoy's, Silco sent me."
Silco nodded, flicking his cigar into the channel and turning away.
"When you end up on your feet anew, find me again. This isn't the end of you, Harriot."
Harriot stood dumbly in the pool of faded light, watching the shadow where Silco had disappeared into. Soon his footsteps couldn't be heard over the low droning of the waves beside him. The burning sting on the back of his neck and the dull throb in his mouth reminded him he was alive. He closed his eyes.
"Thank you."
He turned and hurried to Tolstoy's.
(End of part one!)
