Callian contemplated the foreseeable future for a moment longer before giving in to his greater responsibilities and getting up to leave the bar.
The man had gotten what he had come for—information. Now it was time for him to act on it.
He glanced toward Vander one final time, mulling over what fate had in store for Zaun's current peacekeeper.
Then the bar's doors ahead of him opened abruptly, breaking the man from his idle strain of thought.
Callian was momentarily stunned, staring forward at a group of unruly-looking children who were stumbling into the bar.
Each one of them sported some kind of injury—though their leader had clearly suffered the most, given by her bloody, broken nose.
Callian's eyes burned brightly, unable to repress the sudden surge of shimmer caused by his lapse in control.
His heightened emotions quickly dimmed, however, when he recollected himself not even a second later.
Unfortunately, the damage was already done.
Every one of the four children standing before him froze in place, all thoroughly spooked into submission by his glowing irises.
Callian slowly resumed his stride, tutting in regret at his lack of control.
The man felt remorse at making such an unsatisfactory introduction toward the set of individuals before him—who were so crucial to his later plans.
Shimmer had truly ruined him. Ruined his restraint.
His aspect was too unpredictable now—running wild in its drug-fueled liberation.
The man vowed to do better. One mistake was fine—a second was not.
The tallest of the group, a well-built boy who was wearing a set of makeshift goggles, pushed their youngest out of Callian's way, clearing his path to the bar's exit.
The man inclined his head toward the teen in a silent gratitude before walking past the group and leaving them behind in the crowded tavern.
✦ ✦ ✦
Vander slammed one final mug of cheap ale onto the counter before him, pushing the drink toward the last of his newest patrons.
The men were miners, and cheap ale was all they could afford after working in the mines all day—after balancing the cost of food and other basic necessities.
The man let out an inaudible sigh, unhappy at his inability to serve the group something better to enjoy.
But he had a business to run, and he couldn't give out charity to those who couldn't afford to pay it back.
The state of the Undercity, as ever, was abysmal—fully dependent on the scraps that Piltover tossed downward into their malfunctioning abyss of a city.
It was a tough life for them to live—but far better than the alternative.
Taking up arms against their Topside oppressors wasn't their way forward.
The high council were simply too powerful. Too influential. Too uncaring about the Undercity's pain.
The fight for Zaun's independence just wasn't worth the damage it would cause—to both opposing sides.
Their current compromise was the best deal the Lanes were going to get—no matter how much blood was spilt fighting for a better one.
The door to his bar opened again, and Vander turned, glancing over to watch as a group of familiar faces trudged through the open doorway.
His four adoptive children looked utterly exhausted, covered in an unhealthy smattering of cuts and bruises.
The newcomer—Callian, as he had called himself—was walking toward them, clearly aiming to leave.
Vander frowned imperceptibly, his thoughts drawn back toward the man's earlier mannerisms.
Then the oldest of his children abruptly locked eyes with him, quickly averting her gaze in a repentant shame.
It looked like the girl believed whatever had happened to them was her fault—likely due to another one of her crazily planned gigs gone wrong.
It wouldn't have been the first time this had happened.
Vander shook his head ruefully.
The bedraggled group suddenly froze in place, all staring ahead at the waiting Callian.
The man had stopped walking, standing stock-still a few paces in front of them.
The standoff continued for a few more seconds, worrying the large man who was still watching from behind the bar.
The children looked rattled—intimidated even—but from what Vander could see, the shorter man had made no move to threaten them.
Claggor quickly caught on to Callian's intent to leave and gently pushed Powder to the side, freeing up the man's route to the bar's only exit.
Then, after a slow nod in thanks, the man left—leaving Vander to let out a low sigh of relief.
The group exchanged a mutual, searching look—as if questioning what they had just seen. Then Violet shrugged silently before leading them toward the bar.
Vander gestured the children toward the empty line of seats along the counter, bending down to grab the medical supplies that he always kept within arm's reach.
One by one, they all hopped onto the stools opposite him. Powder took the longest to do so, struggling to scale and seat herself atop the adult-sized stool.
"Well?" Vander asked, looking across at them expectantly. "What happened this time?"
"It's all Powder's fault."
A thin, wiry boy called Mylo jabbed a finger against the little girl's temple, pushing her head to one side.
"She's a jinx. Every job we bring her on goes wrong somehow."
"Hey! It wasn't my fault this time," Powder cried out, sounding indignant.
The girl fought his offending hand away, turning her head to the side so that she could hide her teary eyes.
"You set the timer wrong!" she said, her voice cracking.
"No I did not," Mylo argued, this time attacking the girl from a vastly different angle.
He knuckled the top of Powder's hair roughly, pushing her head downward.
"Your stupid little gadget didn't work again—blew the whole op wide open." he cast his eyes to the ceiling mockingly. "What a damn surprise."
"Get OFF ME!" the girl yelled, shoving the wiry boy away from her and stumbling off the stool she was perched upon.
The group, along with every occupant of the bar, got a good long look at the steadily growing tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.
Powder sprinted toward the bar's exit, her hasty retreat followed by a cacophony of whoops and jeers which came from the tavern's many customers.
"Powder!" Violet shouted, motioning to get up and run after the distressed girl. "Wait!"
"Stay," Vander cut in, his voice firm, grabbing the teen's hand before the older girl ran off untreated. "Your injuries are far worse than hers. You aren't going anywhere until I deal with them."
The girl gritted her teeth angrily, before ultimately deciding to stay put.
She then turned on the irritable Mylo, shouting her frustration right into his unsuspecting face.
"Why did you say that?! You know she's not like us!"
The boy looked uncomfortable at her accusation.
"Clearly," Mylo muttered, looking away, thoroughly annoyed.
He glanced back toward his friend discreetly, quickly realising that she wasn't going to let this go so easily. He doubled down, working to justify his earlier actions.
"Oh, come off it Vi." Said Mylo, exasperated.
He threw a gesturing hand in her face's general direction, shaking it wildly in emphasis.
"We got all beat up because of her. You're the one who got punched in the face—you should be the one complaining the most."
"Yeah," The girl muttered, her voice cooling. "but you didn't have to say it like that."
The wiry boy threw his hands up in the air in surrender.
"Oh no," he started, rolling his eyes once more. "poor Powder finally got what was coming to her—whatever will we do?"
The boy's sarcasm made Vi grit her teeth together in frustration.
The girl knew she indulged her sister—maybe sometimes a bit too much—but that was her job. To keep Powder safe—and happy.
"And," Mylo continued, now on a roll, "this is partly your fault too—don't even try to deny it. Centring a plan around those useless inventions of hers was a terrible idea to begin with."
The older girl began to fume at Mylo's latest nitpick. Another comment like that and she'd be ready to start throwing hands.
"You knew the risks when you agreed to the damn plan in the first place," she said, slamming her closed fists down onto the counter loudly.
"Enough," Vander interrupted, cutting the frenzied argument short.
The man had finished tending to Claggor's split lip.
He motioned Violet toward him, cueing the taller boy to stand up from his stool and step away from the bar.
The girl huffed irritably, then hopped into her adoptive sibling's now-empty seat and turned to face him.
Her injury was definitely far worse than what any of the others had sustained. It looked like he was going to have to reset her broken nose.
"Mylo, are you fine with waiting to get fixed up? Vi's got a broken nose I'm going to have to set—it could take a while."
In truth, it wouldn't take him more than a second to fix—but these two needed to be separated now, before they started something they would come to regret later.
"Yeah, I'm fine," the boy replied, hasty in his agreement, wincing slightly as he probed his bruised cheekbone. "Mostly fine," he amended.
With that, Mylo got up and left, with Claggor following him a moment later after bidding his father and Violet goodbye.
"Come here," Vander ordered, sighing softly.
He gave Violet a brief warning before taking her face in his hands—preparing to realign her broken nose.
"This is going to hurt—a lot."
Violet nodded in assent, closing her eyes and bracing for the oncoming pain.
One precise jerk later and she grunted, wincing. Unwilling tears leaked from her eyes, caused solely by instinct—not by choice.
Vander carefully wiped them away with his washcloth, before moving to do so with the blood dripping from her nostrils as well.
"Chin up, Vi," said the man, gently raising the girl's chin to inspect his handiwork. "It'll heal quicker than you think."
Ideally, he'd like to do more—but he knew for a fact his adoptive daughter would rip off any dressings he gave her the moment she left his sight.
She was too stubborn for her own good—just like her mother.
Violet nodded sniffily, cautiously wiping the base of her nose with a tentative hand before sliding off her stool.
One of the miners yelled a few twisted words of encouragement in his daughter's direction, laughing raucously at her predicament.
"That's right, lass—plus, you ain't a true street kid of our humble Lanes till you get decked in the face for your troubles."
Vander opened his mouth to affirm the man's statement and tell the girl that taking a hit was nothing to be ashamed of.
Then Violet beat him to it.
"Hey, fuck you, old man!" the girl yelled, getting to her feet and flipping the miner the bird. "I'm more of a Zaunite than your sump-working arse will ever be!"
The bar around them turned a sudden, deadly quiet.
Then it exploded in a deafening array of whoops and jeers.
"She's got a point there, you fucking bum! GET BACK TO THE MINES WHERE YOU BELONG!"
The hollered insult sparked another round of mocking whistles and taunting catcalls.
Vander sighed.
The miner—now on the recieving end of a public humiliation ritual—turned an ugly, brick red.
He jumped to his feet, his wounded pride demanding some kind of retribution.
Vander's expression hardened.
The barkeep stood up, losing his usual slouch and stretching up to his full, natural height.
He towered over the approaching man, placing a firm hand on Violet's shoulder.
"Back to your seat," Vander said coldly, glaring down at his daughter's aggressor.
The miner froze. His instinctual need for revenge wrestled with his sense of self-preservation.
The latter eventually won out, and he slunk back to his stool, metaphorical tail firmly between his legs.
The man knew he was punching far above his weight—both figuratively and literally.
It was a smart choice—one that unfortunately earned him another round of mocking laughter.
Nobody in the Lanes touched Vander's kids. Not seriously. The miner was stupid for even trying.
The barkeep had done much for the underground, and its people still remembered that fact.
They also remembered his brutality—and his titles.
Skull Crusher. The Hound of The Underground.
Two famous monikers that neither the Undercity nor Topside above would likely ever forget.
Then a half-filled mug soared from the second floor and struck the miner in the back of his head.
Vander shook his head bitterly, watching as a messy, drunken chaos ensued.
For her part, Violet snorted with quiet laughter, then winced as her nose flared with a stinging pain.
"Who was that new guy anyway?" she asked, thoughts of the short stranger now back at the forefront of her mind. "We don't get many visitors down here—other than the trader lot."
Vander took a second to think, considering what was best to tell the curious girl.
Callian Bright seemed like a careful man. Precise too. Traits like that often went hand-in-hand with intelligence—and ruthlessness.
He was also backed by a new, unknown player who was investigating the Lanes—for better or for worse—judging its suitability for who-knew-what.
Vander could only hope his city wasn't fit for the Painted Lady's purposes in the same way Piltover wasn't—but he very much doubted it.
The only thing that the Undercity was unique in for its sister city, Piltover, was a lack of a clear leader. He hardly counted anymore.
The barkeep beckoned Violet closer, glancing around the bar before murmuring into her deftly turned ear.
"If I'm right about him… then he's dangerous. Very dangerous. Don't let his height fool you into thinking you can mark him—he's packing some seriously well-made gear."
Callian's finely wrought finger armour had not escaped Vander's watchful notice.
That kind of sharpness was lethal—and very hard to come by. Even Piltover's smiths would struggle to manufacture something so unusually precise.
A bespoke piece like that wasn't worn for show. It was a weapon—used to kill.
"Tell the rest of the gang to keep out of his way if you see him, alright?" Vander continued, patting her shoulder gently. "I don't want any of you getting hurt more than you already are."
Violet looked a little confused at his evaluation, but nodded evenly, trusting her guardian's judgement.
Vander then motioned her toward the door, offering the girl a thin smile.
"Now, go find Powder—make sure she's alright."
✦ ✦ ✦