Chapter Text
The reaction from her parents is almost exactly as Cait anticipated. Her mother actually does say ‘I told you so’ , which feels a little on the nose. Her father sighs and reminds her, again, that the undercity is dangerous, and that they’re only angry because they care for her safety. Her mother purses her lips together in a way that suggests she disagrees with this statement.
It’s the reason Cait didn’t tell them she was going down there in the first place. Which, she can recognise now, might have been a mistake.
In her head, Cait had hoped she’d return well before nightfall, ideally clean and dry and with a stack of neatly documented observations to proudly wave under her parents’ noses. As it happens, it was dark by the time she arrived home and, despite the umbrella, her clothes were damp and dishevelled. She didn’t even show them the mess that was her notes, even though most of them ended up being salvageable.
She’s very aware that she’s a disappointment to them.
On that note, they’re really not going to like what she needs to do next.
Which is fine, because she doesn’t plan on telling them. Instead, she calls Jayce for an alibi.
“Cait, they’re not going to believe you’re staying the night here,” he tells her on the phone that afternoon. “You haven’t stayed the night since you were, like, fifteen.”
Jayce moved out a few years ago and lives across the city with his roommate Viktor. His apartment has high-ceilings and scientific equations pinned to the fridge. Cait likes it there, and she visits often, but the couch is terribly uncomfortable and it’s only really twenty minutes from Jayce’s place to her own home, so she hasn’t stayed the night for a long time. Doesn’t mean it won’t be a feasible alibi, though.
“They’ll believe it,” she assures him. “We had a fight last night. I’ll tell them I need some space.”
Jayce sighs. “A fight about what?”
She twirls the cord of the telephone between her fingers. “Me going down to the undercity.”
“Oh. Did you go? How was it?”
See, this is why she loves her brother. “It was… really good. I was just doing observations at the markets to begin with. I’ll still need to observe on different days of the week to have a wide range of results. And I need to look at healing hubs and other social establishments that promote community.” She pauses, then says, “I need to explore the nightlife.”
At this, Jayce actually laughs. “Now, you’re talking like a student. I wondered how long it’d take.”
“I’ll be an observer, not a participant.”
“Uh-huh,” Jayce says, the sarcasm thick in his voice. “Sure you will, Cait.”
“Look.” She lowers her voice, just in case her parents happened to be loitering in the hallway. “There’s no way they will let me go down to the undercity at nighttime.” She huffs a sigh. “They freaked out when I got back yesterday, and it was barely eight p.m.”
Jayce hums.
“And,” Cait continues, “I can’t sneak out, because ideally I’d collect my findings between around eight and midnight. Research shows these are the most social hours for a Friday night.”
She can practically hear Jayce’s grin through the phone. “Oh, research shows that, does it?”
“Shut up. Will you help me?”
A pause. “Can we go with you, at least? Me and Viktor?”
Cait smirks at the suggestion. Jayce and Viktor rarely go anywhere without each other. She wonders how long it’ll take for him to come out to her . “Uh, no. If you two come, I’ll be more conspicuous. I need to be an invisible bystander. If I’m treated differently by the Zaunians it will completely undermine the credibility of the observation.”
She twists the telephone cord tightly around her fingers, now. If Jayce doesn’t agree to this, it’s going to make her research a whole lot harder.
“Fine,” he says, finally, and she all but squeals. “But, listen, you tell us exactly where you’re going, and you actually do stay the night, alright? That way, if you’re not home by, I don’t know, one a.m., we can come and find you.”
“Okay,” she says. She’ll honestly agree to anything at this point. “That’s perfect. Thanks, Jayce.”
“Yeah, yeah.” His voice is nonchalant, but Cait doesn’t miss the tense edge. “You want me to call the folks, then?”
She grins. “Yeah. They’ll only believe it if it comes from you.”
***
Vi is trapped.
Powder’s bedroom is just across the hall, and she always has the door propped open. She’s been a tattle-tale since the day she was born, but since Vi’s drinking spiralled a little too close to out of control , she’s been the biggest snitch in Zaun. Recently, Powder seems to have recruited Isha as her spymaster, which is ridiculously unfair because Vi never hears the kid coming.
If she does manage to make it past Powder and Isha’s lair, there’s still Mylo and Claggor’s rooms to sneak past. They are markedly easier to get by, since they’re both usually blasting music too loud to hear her footsteps, but it’s still a risk. Then, of course, at the bottom of the staircase, Vander will be behind the bar at The Last Drop Coffee Shop , ready to hijack her with an apron. A few of the regulars are in the loop, too, Vi knows—which means even if she can skulk past Vander during a morning rush, one of them will tell him that she’s gone.
She needs eight minutes to get to the nearest off-license and back again, but if she’s seen leaving then she’ll never be able to sneak it back inside. She isn’t actually sure that Vander hasn’t paid off the guy not to serve her, so she’ll need closer to fifteen minutes to ensure she can get somewhere that will.
Her bedroom window has been locked.
Frankly, she’s aware she’s lucky to still have a bedroom. If Vander had his way, she’d probably be sleeping at the foot of Powder’s bed.
So, she needs to secure alcohol. Fast.
She’s not in withdrawal anymore, so that’s a blessing. She dried out in the first few weeks at rehab. Doesn’t do anything for the thrumming anxiety in her veins, though, or the nightmares that never seem to fade. People say these things just need time. But Vi spent eighteen months in Stillwater when she was fifteen and her brain can’t just forget what happened. The fifteenth year of her life—and half of her sixteenth—were stolen. It took that long for her family to argue her case, to prove she was just a stupid kid and not a master criminal, and by the time they got her out, Vi was different.
How can you heal from time you’ve lost?
So, yeah. She needs the alcohol to quieten her brain. Her family are never going to understand and, contrary to popular belief, she actually doesn’t want to keep hurting them like this. So she just needs to find a way to secure booze secretly and subtly, earn Vander’s trust somehow, and get out of this damn house.
She can be a good sister from a distance. Up close, Vi knows she makes things ugly.
Vi’s been out of rehab for approximately eleven days. Vander’s bound to let up eventually, but Vi values her freedom too much to wait. She’s not sure how her family can keep her here when they know where she spent the pivotal part of her teenage years. It makes her feel bitter and resentful. It makes her even more determined to have this one thing .
So, on her twelfth night of relative freedom, Vi makes the decision to break the latch on her bedroom window.
The windowsill is full of clutter, anyway; glass jars of trinkets and discarded make-up wipes and a stick of eyeliner she’s had since before she went to Stillwater. There’s a stack of books that, if she shuffles them along slightly, they’ll cover the latch entirely. Her plan is this: break the latch (as quietly as possible), make the escape through the window and then, when she gets back, hide the broken latch with clutter. If she breaks it just right , then even if Vander does notice, she’ll be able to feign ignorance.
It’s a risk. She knows that. She also knows she can’t keep herself awake for another night in a row because she’s afraid of her own nightmares like some stupid scared kid. The dreams were so bad last time that she woke up screaming. It’s been fifty hours since the last time she got any sleep.
She needs to sleep tonight.
Everyone slinks off to their separate rooms around nine-thirty. It’s a Friday night, but her family don’t go out drinking anymore—not since Vi got back from rehab. It would be sweet if it wasn’t so inconvenient. Vi makes a big song and dance about how exhausted she is and how she’s going to get an early night. She hopes it’s convincing enough that nobody will come into her room to check up on her. Powder sometimes knocks on her door for chats late at night, but if she thinks Vi is dead to the world, hopefully she won’t.
Still, Vi arranges her pillows under the duvet like a kid sneaking out to go to a party. It feels stupid, but if it works, it works.
If it doesn’t… she’ll deal with that later.
She can hear soft, thudding music from down the hall, and Vander’s voice calling out, “Clagg, turn it down!” and Powder giggling on the phone to Ekko, and the gentle padding footsteps of her family as they settle in for the night. Vi double checks that her own door is closed tightly. It doesn’t lock, anymore, but hopefully nobody will come in whilst she’s, uh, sleeping.
Vi wraps one of her old jumpers around a jar and hunches over the windowsill. She hopes the glass won’t break. It’s the only thing she could think of. She waits, heart pounding, for the right moment.
A particularly loud burst of laughter from Powder, and Vi coughs and slams the jar down on the wooden handle. The jumper muffles the sound well. She pauses for a moment, holding her breath, waiting to see if anybody comes in. But the gentle noises of her family continue.
She exhales slowly through her nose, lifting the jumper-wrapped jar. The wood of the handle itself has splintered. She swears under her breath. It’s… a little messier than she intended. It’s going to be harder to hide than she thought. But the job is done, and when she presses against the frame of the window, it cracks open.
The cool evening air hits her like a sigh.
Vi grins.
She waits a little longer, just to be sure, but it doesn’t sound like she’s been found out. She unravels the jumper from the jar and slips it over her head instead.
Then, she slips out of the window and into the night.
***
Cait told Jayce that if she wasn’t home by one, he and Viktor could find her somewhere around The Last Drop Coffee Shop. It’s really her only point of reference, and she figures there will be plenty of bars nearby to conduct her research. She’s wearing clothes that she hopes don’t scream Piltovian, and has put on a thin layer of cherry-red lipstick. It’s the closest she’s come to dressing up in a while, even if it’s not by her usual standards. She’s feeling confident as she boards the bathysphere and heads down to undercity.
There are three bars within a five-minute walking distance of The Last Drop Coffee Shop.
In the first, she sticks out like a sore thumb.
It’s mostly full of men, and she immediately attracts the wrong kind of attention. She orders a drink at the bar and watches three separate guys skulk their way over to chat her up. One of them puts his hand on the small of her back, and she feels nauseous. The bartender, thankfully a woman, shoos them away, then shoots Cait a dark look. “Finish your drink and go, kid,” she says, in a low voice. “This place isn’t for you.”
Cait doesn’t need telling twice.
The second bar she goes to is a little better, but it’s an older crowd. Still, she buys herself a drink and chooses a quiet table in the corner to make her notes. Here, it feels like she can make herself small and observe without any problems. She gets a few strange looks from the regular patrons, but when she pulls out her notebook, it seems that they disregard her as a threat and assume she’s just studying. Which, she is. Kind of.
She listens in to conversations around her, notes the way the patrons interact with the bartenders and each other, observes the culture of drinking and conversation. It really does feel like a community in here, even if the clientele are all of a similar age demographic.
For the best results, she needs somewhere with a more varied crowd.
Cait’s had two drinks by the time she gets to the third bar. She’s feeling pleasantly tipsy, but not at all ready for the rowdiness of the crowd. In fact, it’s so loud in there that she stands out on the pavement and stares up at the building, wondering whether she has it in her.
I could just leave it for tonight, she thinks, wrapping her arms around her stomach as someone opens the door and loud music and raucous laughter spill out onto the street.
Yes, that settles it. It’s definitely time to go home.
She’s already turned to leave when the door opens again and a voice says, “Fancy seeing you here.”
Cait spins around and comes face to face with Vi.
Her stomach twists with some indecipherable feeling that could be nerves or excitement as her eyes scan over Vi. She makes Cait look wildly overdressed. Vi’s own outfit is a pair of baggy jeans and a black-and-grey striped jumper. Her hair is as unkempt as it was when they met yesterday. Black eyeliner is smudged around her eyes. She practically beams at Cait, her eyes glassy. She looks… well, drunker than Cait.
“What are you doing here?” Cait asks, attempting to hide a smile of her own.
“Drinking,” Vi says, cheerfully. “What about you?” Before Cait can answer, she squints her eyes and guesses: “Research?”
Cait smiles. Relief is beginning to soften her posture. It’s nice to talk with someone she actually knows—even if not for very long. She feels like she’s spent the whole night in silence, despite being surrounded by people. “Yes,” she confirms. “Research. But, ah—I was about to give up, actually.”
Vi grins, widely. “Well, you can clock off for the night, but you should stay for one more drink.”
She swallows. “Yeah?”
“Yep. Come on, I’ll buy it.”
Cait’s only mildly surprised she doesn’t take more convincing.