#also hehehe sevika called off the game when talking to read both: to continue talking to reader. and because she actually reflected on

[lambilegs]

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

striking a deal (sevika x reader)

contains: sevika being a jackass (what's new tho I still love her), gambling, reader sort of being a hater against gambling due to the negative impacts its had on their friend, enemies-with-a-bit-of-desire sort of vibe going on, reader is called a "girlfriend," very sfw, not much explicit romance and just a bit of flirting + attraction

a/n: hiii pookies so this is my first fic for miss sevika!! I hope it's accurate to her character and you all enjoy <33 would love to hear what y'all think hehe

art: four gentlemen of high rank playing primero

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

"hey, do you know where I can find sevika?" you tentatively ask the bartender. he's some nervous looking kid who's probably going to quit after two weeks of witnessing the shit show that is the last drop since vander was killed.

not that you can blame him. you rarely frequent this part of the undercity, avoiding it for both the sake of safety and your own sense of sanity. you couldn't stand half the crap that went down here -- all the drunken fights, the sloshing of alcohol spilling and soaking through nearly every visitor's clothes, the lewd public displays that sent your face burning and ducking down -- and, of course, the gambling.

the damn gambling you had been imploring your friend, zafar, to put aside for almost half a year now. ever since he had lost his younger sister to an "intervention" enforcers had made at a party a year ago, every bad habit of his that had once been a small spring in the ground, roots shallow, had blossomed into a rotten, ugly plant that had spread faster than the blink of an eye could capture. you tried to be there for him, you did, but you also had your own family to take care of, and with his new friends being nothing but a bunch of enablers, he had now landed himself into a world of debt.

why, you ask? he had made the stupid decision to play with one of silco's little henchmen, sevika, whose reputation at cards is so notorious that even you've heard of it from your dinky little corner, far away from this place. you had heard rumours of her, some admiring, others downright terrifying. her help in smuggling shimmer, the ass-whooping she did for silco, how she was a constant presence when it came to the drug lord. that was enough to drain you of any admiration you could've beheld for such a strong woman. you had seen what shimmer did, the power it had in crumbling people's bodies, mental states, and their ability to keep living. you don't approve of anyone who's involved in the horrors of it.

the only reason you're here now is because zafar came to you sobbing this morning, grief heavy in his eyes over the money he had lost. he claimed sevika cheated it out of him, and while you still aren't sure as to how true that is, you'd at least try to set the record straight with her. you want to do something, anything, for standing around and watching zafar self-destruct no longer feels like a valid option. you promised him you'd try to see if you could convince her to return his money, under the condition of him avoiding gambling as best as he could and beginning to work part-time at the shop where you worked so he could have a more reliable source of income.

you can only hope this shitty plan will be in your favour. already, your stomach is tightening with anxiety, the knot circling and circling to bulge against your gut and make you slightly nauseated. but, you try to, at least physically, keep your cool, schooling your features to be calm, levelled and devoid of any jitters or twitches.

the bartender cocks his head to a dark corner near the jukebox. "right there. why, you've got business with her?"

a spring of irritation flickers through you at his prodding. the less he knows, the better. "in a way." you nod your thanks, then make your way to her.

you had seen flashes of sevika before. rallies, protests, gang fights. a blur of dark hair, a murky red cape and swinging fists. that's all she ever was to you. so, now, to behold her in her full state, feels... intimidating, to say the least. she carries herself as though the rickety wooden boards and worn out hinges of this place are her prized palace and she's the hailing king, rightfully seated on her throne. her dark lips are twisted into a leering smirk, haughtily bringing her cigar to them and taking a prideful puff from it. you swallow hard. you're definitely out of your league.

you linger nearby, watching through the crowd and awaiting an opportunity to approach her. when the men around her slam their palms down on the shared table, groaning and shutting their eyes in clear loss, her arm tossing towards them cockily, you stiffen up. you have an opening.

as the losers begin to file away, shoulders slumped in defeat, you can't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. everyone in this city struggles, one way or another. to have those struggles tied off with a loss in poker is a downright cursed fate. you try not to meet their eyes, sliding through the sweaty bodies until you reach her table.

you pause in front of her, hands twiddling as she collects the coins. you wait for her to look up, and when a few seconds pass and no such thing happens, you clear your throat.

eyes still casted onto the table, she speaks. her voice is like sand that's fallen through the surface of the ocean, rough and textured, impossibly deep and smooth. "you waited your turn long enough. what do you want?"

you flinch. "waited my turn?"

she tilts her head in the direction you came from. "you were lurking there. just watching, or is there something you need?"

jesus, and here you had thought you were at least a bit subtle. "oh, I--"

"didn't think I'd notice you?" she scoffs, scooping up the coins and pouring them into a small sack. "you almost fell head-first when bunny-face bumped into you."

your eye nearly twitches. "okay, well, good observation, I guess." honestly, it's impressive. you had expected her to be all brawn, no brain. "I'm here to talk to you about something."

her eyes finally meet yours. they're nearly silver, a dark grey that flashes under the colourful lights. her gaze is piercing, punctuated all the more by her dark eyebrows that are drawn in curiosity. "make it quick."

that's all you need. "okay, well, my friend, zafar, gambled with you last night."

"okay."

"well, you won, and took a bunch of his money." you wobble on your feet, hesitation seizing at you due to the accusation you're about to lay out. she could probably snap your neck in less than a millisecond. you've heard of her ability to totally crush any enemy designated to her by silco. definitely not a person whose bad side you want to get on. hopefully, nothing of the sort will happen if you express yourself in enough of a civilized way. "he, I don't know if it's true, but he says you cheated." you avert your eyes, the hand in your pocket gripping tightly onto the handle of your dagger. you haven't had to use it, not yet, at least, but in the undercity, it's better to be safe than sorry. and, frankly, you're expecting the worse from her.

which is why you nearly flinch when the corner of her lip twists up, and she says, "a common scapegoat for losers."

protectiveness immediately kicks in, searing through your body and urging you through your fear. you know it's hypocritical, considering you, too, don't fully believe him. but, still, you at least know his character, whereas she's just riding off her assumptions. "he could just as well be telling the truth."

"oh, yeah? is that why he sent his little girlfriend to save his ass?"

gross. the insinuation feels nearly as offensive as her insults towards him. "I'm not his girlfriend. and I volunteered to come here myself."

her eyes flicker up to you, and you rear back when they linger on your face, skimming over your features before settling back down to the table. "and while that's nice, and well, pretty stupid of you, I didn't do any cheating. anything he lost was because he couldn't play his hand well."

you grit your teeth together. "I'm not stupid. I just came here for a friend."

"a friend who clearly is a sloppy poker player and likely to lose to anyone who has the playing ability of a child." she snickers, and you catch sight of the split between her two front teeth, a little gap protruding. you force yourself to meet her eyes. the last thing you'd want is for her to catch you staring at her mouth.

what's worse is that you can't even argue back with her on this. for all you know, zafar very well may be a shit player. probably is, in all honesty. it wouldn't surprise you -- he always was impulsive as hell, and you wouldn't bat an eye to discover that challenging sevika had been an in-the-moment decision of his. but, you know what he's been through. you know how down in the dumps he is financially, and just how desperate he's gotten. his mourning has only made it worse.

"okay, well," you trail off, not really knowing where to continue. you didn't really lay a plan for yourself, and now that she's swiftly shut you down in a manner which you have no rebuttals for, you're not sure how to proceed.

"was that all?"

"no." you force your shoulders to straighten, hoping you sound somewhat firm, maybe even dignified. "is there any way you can return his money? he's been through a lot this year, and--"

she cuts you off with a bark of laughter, the raspy noise of it harsh and grating to your ears. the anger it's stirring in you probably isn't helping either. "okay. listen, friend of...?"

deadpan, you respond, "zafar."

she nods. "yeah, whatever his name is. this game comes with risks, and one of them is losing all your shit if you play with no tact."

you suck in a sharp breath at the condescension in her tone. "I'm well aware of that. but, listen, he's had a hard time of it lately, and--"

"and what? we've all had a hard time of it lately. if he chose to put his life's worth on the table, that isn't my problem."

"I'm not saying it is, but c'mon, can't you have a little empathy now and return his money?" you stick an incredulous finger at the table. "you have enough as is! no need to drain every zaunite of their hard-earned money before you're satisfied."

her eyes flutter in what seems to be exasperation, but you firmly planted, both on your feet and in your stance. physically, you can't do shit against this mass of muscle. but, maybe, just maybe, you can verbally get somewhere.

she stares up at you, elbows propped on her knees. "if it's so hard-earned, why did your friend gamble it away? are you asking me to return someone's money because they were an idiot?"

frustration begins to gnaw at your stomach, a burning sensation swarming through your insides and making you tense up. "I'm telling you, he's not in his right mind right now. things have happened in his family lately, and it's been hard for him."

"are you forgetting where you live? things happen in every family here. being smart is how you survive. if your friend can't do that..." she shrugs, continuing to sweep the coins into the opening of the sack. "then, that's not my problem."

"being a decent person helps in surviving in this place, too. being there for each other and our community. don't you care about that?"

her movements halt for a second, eyes flicking between you and the table. you nearly crack a grin and do a little rejoicing dance. bingo.

you add a sticky sweet tone to your voice, pleading and coaxing. you've heard she frequents babette's brothel, and if that's any indication about where her romantic interests lie, maybe you'll be able to woe her into complacency. "c'mon, I promise, he'll never gamble with you again, and if he does, take anything and keep it. but, please, just this one time, help him out, hm? do it for him, do it for your people."

her face, which was stoic only moments ago, shatters into a loud round of laughter, her palm smacking against her knee. "I gotta hand it to you, the 'for your people' thing was a nice touch." she stands up, and you try not to blink too hard at the sight of her towering over you. jesus, she's gigantic. no wonder people are scared shitless of her. no wonder you were scared shitless of her. "now, be honest. was the money yours? boyfriend left you and stole from the cookie jar? told you you had to come and get it back yourself?"

the more she talks, the more you get the sense that to her, this conversation is simply something to toy with, and just engage with as a playful little pastime. it only causes more anger to ooze within you, fiery and hot within your guts, like lava. this isn't a game. this is about people's lives, people's financial sustenance. she must earn a decent amount of time for her work for silco, and yet here she is, milking the people of zaun who don't know any better or who are too entrenched in their habits to put a stop to their gambling.

you want to make a jab at her that's as harsh as the blow to your ego was. it might risk you a limb, but you're praying the surprising amount of calm she's shown so far is a sign that your safety is secure. "you know what? I was stupid for coming here in the first place. to think one of silco's little servants would actually have a moral compass."

unfortunately, her irritatingly cool collection not only keeps your physical wellbeing in check, but does the complete opposite to your pride. for all she does is stare down at you, the long, blue scar seeping through her cheek curling as she chuckles, the noise husky and rough, like crushed velvet. "ouch. good one. anyone else might've gotten offended by that." her stormy eyes skip to your lips for a split second. "quite the mouth you have on you."

what the fuck is that supposed to mean? is that a pass or a genuine comment on your temper, which is very much flaring up? either way, you're determined to try harder to goad her. "yeah, well, I'm sure it has no impact on you, right? after all, you spend your days contributing to half the shit going down in this fucked up city."

her jaw suddenly clenches, mouth pressing together. you would've thought someone in this business would be a bit more discreet with the physical manifestations of their moods. but, sevika is like an open book, grey eyes wide, and eyebrows sunk down, her newfound disdain clear as day. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"the shimmer," you answer, squinting at her, praying the expression conveys how stupid you think she is. "your little boss has just tossed it to this city and watches the damages of it unfold without doing shit. wasn't his glorious plan to make this city a better place, not fuck us over even more?"

"the shimmer is helping," she retorts, her voice harder than before, lined with a firm pressure that had been absent in her prior teasing and casual dismissal. "we have something that topside could only wish for, something that gives us an advantage."

"an advantage?" you laugh bitterly. the injustice of it all, the agony you see your people in everyday -- it all floods your insides, wracking you from within. "it's been years since it's come about, and nothing has changed. piltover is still on top, and in addition to that, they have hextech." you make sure your eyes pointedly lock onto hers, hoping she feels every single fibre of your rage. "just admit it. you guys haven't done shit."

"and what exactly are you doing?" her voice is lowered to a heavy whisper, and you feel the noises surrounding you two melt away into a light, background buzz. the iciness of her voice feels almost worst than any other stupid tone she's taken since you started interacting.

"something you and your boss don't seem to be helping at all with." you give her a tight-lipped smile, your gums aching with how hard your teeth press in together, the disjointed shapes of them uncomfortable and crooked as they mash at the edges. "trying to survive."

her nostrils flare, her burning glare pulsing through the barrier of your skin and making your insides turn from the onslaught of anxiety that enters. god, will she unleash some goons on you now or something?

"sevika!"

you jerk at the sudden sound, whereas sevika simply blinks down at you, gaze unrelenting. "what?" she calls out.

uncomfortable at having her eyes still pointed at you, you turn to the voice, seeing a man with small, rectangular glasses hanging off his nose looking awfully mopey.

"you promised us another round," the guy wails, tossing his hands in the air.

you swallow hard at the silence that ensues, still feeling her stormy eyes hooked onto you. after a moment, she says, "maybe later."

the man's shoulders sag as he heaves a dramatic sigh, turning to who seems to be his friend, whimpering, "she's too busy with her date."

you grimace at the mistake, though the disgust you feel at it is fused with an irritation directed at the way your stomach spins at the word 'date.' you're not stupid -- sevika is, objectively, pretty attractive. hot, some people might say. but, jesus, she's a bitch too. and working with silco, which makes for a very unappealing combination.

"come on," she drawls out. you turn back to her, the anger from before now replaced with a wide smirk, one sharp eyebrow lifted up inquisitively. "I can't be all that bad, can I?"

you roll your eyes. this conversation has strayed too much as is, and you're not about to let it tiptoe off into flirtatious territory. "are you going to give my friend back his money or not?"

"hm," she ponders, and lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. you can immediately catch a whiff of the falsehood in the gesture, and tap your foot, waiting for her to just solidify your assumption. "no, I won't. but, do give him my regards."

you grunt, shaking your head. despite your expectancy of it, you can't help but feel a stone of disappointment sink through the waters of your body, falling to the bottom with more impact than you'd like. you shouldn't expect anything of her, there's no reason for you to feel disappointment. your expectations shouldn't have gotten this high in the first place. "of course. have a good day."

as you whirl around to leave, she grabs your forearm, callouses brushing against your skin. "hey, I just turned down a poker game for you."

"uh, yeah, and as a reward, you get a departure from me that doesn't include a kick to the shin." you snatch your arm from her grasp, trying to direct your thoughts to her shitty words as a desperate attempt to ignore the warmth in your stomach. "you're welcome."

with her snarky laugh ringing in your ears, you practically dash to the door, wanting to get out as soon as possible.

it's awful, but at the opening, something in you whispers for you to look back once more. it's okay -- it's reasonable, right? you barely frequent this place, anyone would want to catch one last glance at such a notorious woman in your city, no matter how degenerate and callous she is.

the only con to this is as soon as you find sight of her through your tentative search of the crowd, she's already staring back at you. at being caught, you internally cringe, the feeling only intensified by a tenfold when she tips her head at you with a grin.

ugh. never again.

two weeks later, you find a crisp envelope laying out on the mat outside your front door. in neat, cursive writing, it reads:

A thank you gift for the free business consultation. Do with it what you will. Whether you or someone else needs it. - S

[sevikashimmerstrap]

oooooo everything about a good enemies to lovers fic is in this one right here yall!!

PHEW big mama i need you nowwwwww

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

striking a deal

contains: sevika being a jackass (what's new tho I still love her), gambling, reader sort of being a hater against gambling due to the negative impacts its had on their friend, enemies-with-a-bit-of-desire sort of vibe going on, reader is called a "girlfriend," very sfw, not much explicit romance and just a bit of flirting + attraction

a/n: hiii pookies so this is my first fic for miss sevika!! I hope it's accurate to her character and you all enjoy <33 would love to hear what y'all think hehe

art: four gentlemen of high rank playing primero

✮🃜🃚🃖🃁🂭🂺✮

"hey, do you know where I can find sevika?" you tentatively ask the bartender. he's some nervous looking kid who's probably going to quit after two weeks of witnessing the shit show that is the last drop since vander was killed.

not that you can blame him. you rarely frequent this part of the undercity, avoiding it for both the sake of safety and your own sense of sanity. you couldn't stand half the crap that went down here -- all the drunken fights, the sloshing of alcohol spilling and soaking through nearly every visitor's clothes, the lewd public displays that sent your face burning and ducking down -- and, of course, the gambling.

the damn gambling you had been imploring your friend, zafar, to put aside for almost half a year now. ever since he had lost his younger sister to an "intervention" enforcers had made at a party a year ago, every bad habit of his that had once been a small spring in the ground, roots shallow, had blossomed into a rotten, ugly plant that had spread faster than the blink of an eye could capture. you tried to be there for him, you did, but you also had your own family to take care of, and with his new friends being nothing but a bunch of enablers, he had now landed himself into a world of debt.

why, you ask? he had made the stupid decision to play with one of silco's little henchmen, sevika, whose reputation at cards is so notorious that even you've heard of it from your dinky little corner, far away from this place. you had heard rumours of her, some admiring, others downright terrifying. her help in smuggling shimmer, the ass-whooping she did for silco, how she was a constant presence when it came to the drug lord. that was enough to drain you of any admiration you could've beheld for such a strong woman. you had seen what shimmer did, the power it had in crumbling people's bodies, mental states, and their ability to keep living. you don't approve of anyone who's involved in the horrors of it.

the only reason you're here now is because zafar came to you sobbing this morning, grief heavy in his eyes over the money he had lost. he claimed sevika cheated it out of him, and while you still aren't sure as to how true that is, you'd at least try to set the record straight with her. you want to do something, anything, for standing around and watching zafar self-destruct no longer feels like a valid option. you promised him you'd try to see if you could convince her to return his money, under the condition of him avoiding gambling as best as he could and beginning to work part-time at the shop where you worked so he could have a more reliable source of income.

you can only hope this shitty plan will be in your favour. already, your stomach is tightening with anxiety, the knot circling and circling to bulge against your gut and make you slightly nauseated. but, you try to, at least physically, keep your cool, schooling your features to be calm, levelled and devoid of any jitters or twitches.

the bartender cocks his head to a dark corner near the jukebox. "right there. why, you've got business with her?"

a spring of irritation flickers through you at his prodding. the less he knows, the better. "in a way." you nod your thanks, then make your way to her.

you had seen flashes of sevika before. rallies, protests, gang fights. a blur of dark hair, a murky red cape and swinging fists. that's all she ever was to you. so, now, to behold her in her full state, feels... intimidating, to say the least. she carries herself as though the rickety wooden boards and worn out hinges of this place are her prized palace and she's the hailing king, rightfully seated on her throne. her dark lips are twisted into a leering smirk, haughtily bringing her cigar to them and taking a prideful puff from it. you swallow hard. you're definitely out of your league.

you linger nearby, watching through the crowd and awaiting an opportunity to approach her. when the men around her slam their palms down on the shared table, groaning and shutting their eyes in clear loss, her arm tossing towards them cockily, you stiffen up. you have an opening.

as the losers begin to file away, shoulders slumped in defeat, you can't help but feel a twinge of pity for them. everyone in this city struggles, one way or another. to have those struggles tied off with a loss in poker is a downright cursed fate. you try not to meet their eyes, sliding through the sweaty bodies until you reach her table.

you pause in front of her, hands twiddling as she collects the coins. you wait for her to look up, and when a few seconds pass and no such thing happens, you clear your throat.

eyes still casted onto the table, she speaks. her voice is like sand that's fallen through the surface of the ocean, rough and textured, impossibly deep and smooth. "you waited your turn long enough. what do you want?"

you flinch. "waited my turn?"

she tilts her head in the direction you came from. "you were lurking there. just watching, or is there something you need?"

jesus, and here you had thought you were at least a bit subtle. "oh, I--"

"didn't think I'd notice you?" she scoffs, scooping up the coins and pouring them into a small sack. "you almost fell head-first when bunny-face bumped into you."

your eye nearly twitches. "okay, well, good observation, I guess." honestly, it's impressive. you had expected her to be all brawn, no brain. "I'm here to talk to you about something."

her eyes finally meet yours. they're nearly silver, a dark grey that flashes under the colourful lights. her gaze is piercing, punctuated all the more by her dark eyebrows that are drawn in curiosity. "make it quick."

that's all you need. "okay, well, my friend, zafar, gambled with you last night."

"okay."

"well, you won, and took a bunch of his money." you wobble on your feet, hesitation seizing at you due to the accusation you're about to lay out. she could probably snap your neck in less than a millisecond. you've heard of her ability to totally crush any enemy designated to her by silco. definitely not a person whose bad side you want to get on. hopefully, nothing of the sort will happen if you express yourself in enough of a civilized way. "he, I don't know if it's true, but he says you cheated." you avert your eyes, the hand in your pocket gripping tightly onto the handle of your dagger. you haven't had to use it, not yet, at least, but in the undercity, it's better to be safe than sorry. and, frankly, you're expecting the worse from her.

which is why you nearly flinch when the corner of her lip twists up, and she says, "a common scapegoat for losers."

protectiveness immediately kicks in, searing through your body and urging you through your fear. you know it's hypocritical, considering you, too, don't fully believe him. but, still, you at least know his character, whereas she's just riding off her assumptions. "he could just as well be telling the truth."

"oh, yeah? is that why he sent his little girlfriend to save his ass?"

gross. the insinuation feels nearly as offensive as her insults towards him. "I'm not his girlfriend. and I volunteered to come here myself."

her eyes flicker up to you, and you rear back when they linger on your face, skimming over your features before settling back down to the table. "and while that's nice, and well, pretty stupid of you, I didn't do any cheating. anything he lost was because he couldn't play his hand well."

you grit your teeth together. "I'm not stupid. I just came here for a friend."

"a friend who clearly is a sloppy poker player and likely to lose to anyone who has the playing ability of a child." she snickers, and you catch sight of the split between her two front teeth, a little gap protruding. you force yourself to meet her eyes. the last thing you'd want is for her to catch you staring at her mouth.

what's worse is that you can't even argue back with her on this. for all you know, zafar very well may be a shit player. probably is, in all honesty. it wouldn't surprise you -- he always was impulsive as hell, and you wouldn't bat an eye to discover that challenging sevika had been an in-the-moment decision of his. but, you know what he's been through. you know how down in the dumps he is financially, and just how desperate he's gotten. his mourning has only made it worse.

"okay, well," you trail off, not really knowing where to continue. you didn't really lay a plan for yourself, and now that she's swiftly shut you down in a manner which you have no rebuttals for, you're not sure how to proceed.

"was that all?"

"no." you force your shoulders to straighten, hoping you sound somewhat firm, maybe even dignified. "is there any way you can return his money? he's been through a lot this year, and--"

she cuts you off with a bark of laughter, the raspy noise of it harsh and grating to your ears. the anger it's stirring in you probably isn't helping either. "okay. listen, friend of...?"

deadpan, you respond, "zafar."

she nods. "yeah, whatever his name is. this game comes with risks, and one of them is losing all your shit if you play with no tact."

you suck in a sharp breath at the condescension in her tone. "I'm well aware of that. but, listen, he's had a hard time of it lately, and--"

"and what? we've all had a hard time of it lately. if he chose to put his life's worth on the table, that isn't my problem."

"I'm not saying it is, but c'mon, can't you have a little empathy now and return his money?" you stick an incredulous finger at the table. "you have enough as is! no need to drain every zaunite of their hard-earned money before you're satisfied."

her eyes flutter in what seems to be exasperation, but you firmly planted, both on your feet and in your stance. physically, you can't do shit against this mass of muscle. but, maybe, just maybe, you can verbally get somewhere.

she stares up at you, elbows propped on her knees. "if it's so hard-earned, why did your friend gamble it away? are you asking me to return someone's money because they were an idiot?"

frustration begins to gnaw at your stomach, a burning sensation swarming through your insides and making you tense up. "I'm telling you, he's not in his right mind right now. things have happened in his family lately, and it's been hard for him."

"are you forgetting where you live? things happen in every family here. being smart is how you survive. if your friend can't do that..." she shrugs, continuing to sweep the coins into the opening of the sack. "then, that's not my problem."

"being a decent person helps in surviving in this place, too. being there for each other and our community. don't you care about that?"

her movements halt for a second, eyes flicking between you and the table. you nearly crack a grin and do a little rejoicing dance. bingo.

you add a sticky sweet tone to your voice, pleading and coaxing. you've heard she frequents babette's brothel, and if that's any indication about where her romantic interests lie, maybe you'll be able to woe her into complacency. "c'mon, I promise, he'll never gamble with you again, and if he does, take anything and keep it. but, please, just this one time, help him out, hm? do it for him, do it for your people."

her face, which was stoic only moments ago, shatters into a loud round of laughter, her palm smacking against her knee. "I gotta hand it to you, the 'for your people' thing was a nice touch." she stands up, and you try not to blink too hard at the sight of her towering over you. jesus, she's gigantic. no wonder people are scared shitless of her. no wonder you were scared shitless of her. "now, be honest. was the money yours? boyfriend left you and stole from the cookie jar? told you you had to come and get it back yourself?"

the more she talks, the more you get the sense that to her, this conversation is simply something to toy with, and just engage with as a playful little pastime. it only causes more anger to ooze within you, fiery and hot within your guts, like lava. this isn't a game. this is about people's lives, people's financial sustenance. she must earn a decent amount of time for her work for silco, and yet here she is, milking the people of zaun who don't know any better or who are too entrenched in their habits to put a stop to their gambling.

you want to make a jab at her that's as harsh as the blow to your ego was. it might risk you a limb, but you're praying the surprising amount of calm she's shown so far is a sign that your safety is secure. "you know what? I was stupid for coming here in the first place. to think one of silco's little servants would actually have a moral compass."

unfortunately, her irritatingly cool collection not only keeps your physical wellbeing in check, but does the complete opposite to your pride. for all she does is stare down at you, the long, blue scar seeping through her cheek curling as she chuckles, the noise husky and rough, like crushed velvet. "ouch. good one. anyone else might've gotten offended by that." her stormy eyes skip to your lips for a split second. "quite the mouth you have on you."

what the fuck is that supposed to mean? is that a pass or a genuine comment on your temper, which is very much flaring up? either way, you're determined to try harder to goad her. "yeah, well, I'm sure it has no impact on you, right? after all, you spend your days contributing to half the shit going down in this fucked up city."

her jaw suddenly clenches, mouth pressing together. you would've thought someone in this business would be a bit more discreet with the physical manifestations of their moods. but, sevika is like an open book, grey eyes wide, and eyebrows sunk down, her newfound disdain clear as day. "what the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"the shimmer," you answer, squinting at her, praying the expression conveys how stupid you think she is. "your little boss has just tossed it to this city and watches the damages of it unfold without doing shit. wasn't his glorious plan to make this city a better place, not fuck us over even more?"

"the shimmer is helping," she retorts, her voice harder than before, lined with a firm pressure that had been absent in her prior teasing and casual dismissal. "we have something that topside could only wish for, something that gives us an advantage."

"an advantage?" you laugh bitterly. the injustice of it all, the agony you see your people in everyday -- it all floods your insides, wracking you from within. "it's been years since it's come about, and nothing has changed. piltover is still on top, and in addition to that, they have hextech." you make sure your eyes pointedly lock onto hers, hoping she feels every single fibre of your rage. "just admit it. you guys haven't done shit."

"and what exactly are you doing?" her voice is lowered to a heavy whisper, and you feel the noises surrounding you two melt away into a light, background buzz. the iciness of her voice feels almost worst than any other stupid tone she's taken since you started interacting.

"something you and your boss don't seem to be helping at all with." you give her a tight-lipped smile, your gums aching with how hard your teeth press in together, the disjointed shapes of them uncomfortable and crooked as they mash at the edges. "trying to survive."

her nostrils flare, her burning glare pulsing through the barrier of your skin and making your insides turn from the onslaught of anxiety that enters. god, will she unleash some goons on you now or something?

"sevika!"

you jerk at the sudden sound, whereas sevika simply blinks down at you, gaze unrelenting. "what?" she calls out.

uncomfortable at having her eyes still pointed at you, you turn to the voice, seeing a man with small, rectangular glasses hanging off his nose looking awfully mopey.

"you promised us another round," the guy wails, tossing his hands in the air.

you swallow hard at the silence that ensues, still feeling her stormy eyes hooked onto you. after a moment, she says, "maybe later."

the man's shoulders sag as he heaves a dramatic sigh, turning to who seems to be his friend, whimpering, "she's too busy with her date."

you grimace at the mistake, though the disgust you feel at it is fused with an irritation directed at the way your stomach spins at the word 'date.' you're not stupid -- sevika is, objectively, pretty attractive. hot, some people might say. but, jesus, she's a bitch too. and working with silco, which makes for a very unappealing combination.

"come on," she drawls out. you turn back to her, the anger from before now replaced with a wide smirk, one sharp eyebrow lifted up inquisitively. "I can't be all that bad, can I?"

you roll your eyes. this conversation has strayed too much as is, and you're not about to let it tiptoe off into flirtatious territory. "are you going to give my friend back his money or not?"

"hm," she ponders, and lifting a hand to stroke her cheek. you can immediately catch a whiff of the falsehood in the gesture, and tap your foot, waiting for her to just solidify your assumption. "no, I won't. but, do give him my regards."

you grunt, shaking your head. despite your expectancy of it, you can't help but feel a stone of disappointment sink through the waters of your body, falling to the bottom with more impact than you'd like. you shouldn't expect anything of her, there's no reason for you to feel disappointment. your expectations shouldn't have gotten this high in the first place. "of course. have a good day."

as you whirl around to leave, she grabs your forearm, callouses brushing against your skin. "hey, I just turned down a poker game for you."

"uh, yeah, and as a reward, you get a departure from me that doesn't include a kick to the shin." you snatch your arm from her grasp, trying to direct your thoughts to her shitty words as a desperate attempt to ignore the warmth in your stomach. "you're welcome."

with her snarky laugh ringing in your ears, you practically dash to the door, wanting to get out as soon as possible.

it's awful, but at the opening, something in you whispers for you to look back once more. it's okay -- it's reasonable, right? you barely frequent this place, anyone would want to catch one last glance at such a notorious woman in your city, no matter how degenerate and callous she is.

the only con to this is as soon as you find sight of her through your tentative search of the crowd, she's already staring back at you. at being caught, you internally cringe, the feeling only intensified by a tenfold when she tips her head at you with a grin.

ugh. never again.

two weeks later, you find a crisp envelope laying out on the mat outside your front door. in neat, cursive writing, it reads:

A thank you gift for the free business consultation. Do with it what you will. Whether you or someone else needs it. - S