Chapter Text
You missed the sounds of the ocean most of all.
Your old home had been on the docks, the sound of waves crashing onto stone and wood was the soundtrack of your adolescence, especially during high tide when the waters were high enough to wash up onto the streets. In the daytime hours, the waves were accompanied by the sound of ship bells and lively markets; and at night you could hear the drunken sailors on their way back to their boats from the tavern.
But here in your new home, there were no waves to be heard. The only water that ran through the Underground were the sewers, which was thick with sludge and off-coloured from the chemicals leaking from the mines. Those same chemicals stunk up the air and made you cough, hacking harder the lower you went into the city. You used to complain about the air back home too, always cold and stinking of fish guts. But at least it was breathable there. Now, you’d do just about anything to smell the copper scent of the slaughter docks, so long as it was true Bilgewater air you were breathing.
But when it came to choosing between leaving your precious port city or risk losing your mother to the bounty on her head…let’s just say you were more than a little willing to sacrifice things like fresh air and the sound of the tide.
Besides, it wasn’t all bad in Piltover’s lower levels. In Bridgewater, every scrap was used and reused until it could crumble to dust in your hand. Every part of a creature hunted was used or otherwise sold off for profit, when boat parts broke they’d be used to patch holes in buildings, there were a thousand different uses for every scrap of clothing or bolt from a machine in the bay. But here? A lot of people just threw things away the minute they got slow or the first piece broke off. Especially those across the bridge, whose trash always ended up in the pits connecting off from the sump.
You were in one of these pits on a warm night. The heat in your shared apartment had driven you out in search of something to take your mind off your sweat-coated skin, and with your mother working late yet again, you knew nobody would be home to question your late-night adventure. Your mother always told you not to stay out on the streets too late, and wasn’t too particularly fond of you digging through “dumpster heaps”, as she called them. The smell of garbage and rust always lingered on your clothes, and more than once you had gotten scraped with something and left it unchecked to get infected. But it was fun, and what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
Besides, these adventures helped to pay the rent, so it was worth it. And it’s not like you had any friends to do anything else with. Everyone else in the Underground was so introverted, keeping to themselves and never being accustomed to small talk unless there was something to be gained. Even the kids your age couldn’t carry a conversation without trying to pick your pockets.
But that didn’t stop you from trying to talk to people when you got the chance.
“You’re doing that wrong.”
The boy in front of you jumped nearly a foot in the air upon hearing your voice, whirling around to glare at you. He was holding the remains of a broken music box in one hand and a precision welding stylus in the other, trying (and failing) to reattach the cylinder. The trinket was badly banged up, its green copper exterior dented but not unfixably so. The greater issue was the loose parts that scattered its insides.
“The bloody hell you doing sneaking up on someone like that?” The boy exclaimed. Now that he was properly facing you, you could make out more of his face. He was sturdy-looking but quite short, with a round face and wispy hair tied into a small ponytail at the base of his skull, a crooked nose stuck out awkwardly on his face. He was maybe a couple of years older than you, but not by much, maybe 10 or 12.
“Wadn’t tryin’ to be sneaky-like.” You shrugged and pulled down the bandana that had been securely tied around your nose and mouth, the metal in your bag clanked as you readjusted its position on your shoulder. “Maybe ye’ just didn’ hear me, s’all.”
“Or maybe you’re a sneaking, no-good trying to steal my haul, gutter rat!” He snarled and shoved his welding tool into a belt pouch as he continued to glare daggers into you. “Get lost!”
“Ey, I’m no thief! If I was trying to steal from you, why'n would I be say anythin'?” You scrunched up your nose as you questioned him, before continuing to eye the music box that the boy held in his hand. “If ye keep doin’ what yer doin', yer just gonna be weldin' it all stationary-like. Then it won’t be spin’n to play the music, y’know. Yer better off gettin’ another plate and weldin it t’ the spring housin’ part.”
“Why the hell should I believe you?”
Rolling your eyes, you put your bag down at your feet and waved your hand lazily. With the movement of your fingers, the box flung out of the boy’s hand and into your own. He shouted out in surprise, startled at the action, but you didn’t pay him any mind as you unhooked your own heat torch from your belt, along with a little steel plate. With a couple of well-placed seams, you gave the trinket a slight shake, showing that the cylinder was now correctly in place and no longer loose. You handed the box back to the boy and he looked at you, wide-eyed and bushed-up eyebrows. Although he took the box it seemed to be more out of reflex, his face looking as if he wanted to grab his sack and make a run for it.
“How…how did you do that?”
“Just a bit of weldin’s all. You’re very welcome, mate!” You shrugged, placing the torch back into its pocket. “Seam welds’re simple as lunch once y’ get the hang o’ it-”
“No, no, not that!” The boy growled and angrily stuffed the box into his bag. “How did you grab that thing without moving? What the hell are you?”
“Oh!” You stretched out your hand, but not before wiping it on your ragged pants to rid it of some of the grease and dust. “M’ friends call me Min, it’s awful nice to meet y’.”
The boy didn’t shake your hand, but he did stare at it for a long second. He glared coldly, a scarred lip curled upwards as if you had spat into your palm. But despite the cold looks and snarl, you kept your hand extended, a polite smile adorning your face as you held eye contact. His skin was pale but stained with smoke and slightly burnt pink around his cheekbones. It was then that you noticed a bandage lazily pasted across his nose.
The first person in the Underground, other than your mom’s boss, that you’d actually talked to and who didn’t ask about your accent.
But then he spat on the ground and picked up his bag, hauling it over his shoulder as he turned around and began to walk away. Matching suit, you nimbly picked up your own sack of goodies and followed.
“Are y’ sellin’ your fixes too? I sell mine at the upper markets, y’know. Helps my Mum with rent'n all. Yesterday I managed to fix up an old pocketwatch and got a whole gold coin for it, didn't I! Some'a m'best work really. Now I’m working on this old gun thingy-whatzit…admittedly m' not too familiar with gun mechanics, y'see, but it’s been real' neat learning! What sort'a stuff are ye working on?”
“What’s it to you?” He grumbled.
“Well maybe if ye need any help, y'know, we could work together sometime! I don’ 'ave many friends here-” “Shocker that.” “-and it would be cool to have someone who knows yer way 'round a welding torch to talk to.”
“I don't need any help, especially not from a gutter rat like you. And hasn’t your mommy ever told you not to talk to strangers?”
“Actually, y'see, she says that strangers are just friends you haven’t met yet, don'tcha know!”
Suddenly, the boy stopped in his tracks, turning on his heel to look you dead in the eyes. This was so sudden that you clumsily had to take a step back to avoid crashing into him.
“You must not be from here, huh?” He eyed you.
Your head tilted to the side. “Just moved from Bilgewater!”
“That explains it. Then I guess ‘sewer fish’ is a better fitting name than gutter rat.” He rolled his eyes. “Let me offer you some advice, alright sewer fish? People here, on this side of the ocean? We stick to our own. I don’t rightly know how things are done in whatever little fishing town you’re from, and frankly, I don’t give a shit. But if you want to stay alive here, you need to learn that not everyone is just gonna chat up a random stranger. If they do, they’re just trying to steal your money or your organs.”
“‘Stick to our own’?” You questioned.
“Yeah, you know like…kin or whatnot. Friends and family, people you can trust to be loyal.”
“Well then…can’ we be friends?”
The boy blinked at you for a moment as if you had sprouted a second head. “I don’t even know you!”
"’m willing to bet you didn’t always know all your friends either, right? And unless you’re wanting to ‘steal my organs’...”
He once again turned, now making his way towards the ladder that lead to the opening of the pit. “I don’t know what you are with your weird…magical-music-box-grabbing-ness. And in my experience, it’s best not to fuck around with stuff you don’t understand. Not to mention, you're a girl!”
"What's my being a girl got anythin' to do widdit?"
"You're a girl, and I'm a man. We can't be friends! That'd just be weird."
"Well if yer a man then I'm a woman, then. Can a man an' a woman be friends?"
"No!" As he began to scale the ladder, you followed up behind him.
Admittedly, you hadn’t realized how long you’d been down in the pit until you were aways up the latter, and you noticed the change in the air quality. The change, mixed with the exertion of climbing up such a steep ladder, wreaked through your lungs and you found yourself hacking coughs. But you endured, continuing your climb as you coughed. Although it was slightly less muggy the more you exited the pit (more so than normal days with the overbearing heat) the opening was still quite heavy and stunk of smoke and sewer, so as soon as you got up onto the opening, you pulled your bandana back over your nose. The fabric, clinging tightly across your face, did little to stop the heaviness of the air or the rotten smell, but it was better than nothing and covered your mouth as you continued to hack up a lung.
“You’re gonna have to get used to the air, y'know.” The boy said, eyeing you cautiously as you fought to get your breathing under control.
“Ey! I’ve…” You coughed again. “I’ve only been 'ere a couple'a months, y'know. Ye try going from salty fresh ocean air to this shite!”
“Welcome to the Underground.” The boy shrugged. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but stopped when his back suddenly straightened. The look of humorous caution drained out of his face as he turned and looked around a nearby wall, looking back into the alleyway nearby. “Shit, Enforcers!”
“En…wha'?” You asked, coughing finally under control.
He whirled back around to stare at you. “Enforcers! Shit, are you that fucking dumb, sewer fish?”
“Hey! ’m not dumb!” You frowned, stiffening your shoulders as you squared off against the boy. But he hardly seemed interested as he instead whirled back to look down the alley, and then just as quickly turned back to you. He seemed to ponder something for a moment before rolling his eyes and cursing under his breath. Before you even had time to ask what was wrong, he was grabbing you by the wrist and dashing down the nearest path.
Of course, you protested, trying to wrench your hand free, but his hold was strong and the way he was sprinting made you focus on keeping step as to not trip over your own feet or lose your grip on your bag. You didn’t recognize the path he took you down, speeding around corners and down backway paths that you were in no way familiar with. For the first time since you had approached the boy, you wonder if following him had been a foolish decision. All the stone and iron buildings began to mesh together in a blur of colours and faces you didn’t know. Where were you? Where was he taking you? You didn’t know.
“Would you let! Me! Go!” You exclaimed, highlighting each word with a tug. Finally, as the boy dashed down one final alley, he slid to a stop and let go of your wrist, dropping it as if touching your skin had burned him.
“You’re welcome, sewer fish!” He hissed. “I just saved your ass. One last piece of advice: when someone says Enforcers, you run! Especially when you’ve got a sack of stuff you just technically stole from the city.”
“But…why? And where even the lady's sea are we? I’ve ain't ever been this way!”
The boy groaned loudly, lifting a dirty hand to rub at his face. “I don’t have time for this. Just do what I say, alright? The main market is up north five blocks, turn left at the mushroom stand with all the Whumps, and stick to the lighted roads before you get yourself fucking knifed open, yea?”
And then he turned and he was gone, and you were alone again.
Your first friend in the Underground!