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Caitlyn was always observant growing up, watching the way her mother changed from a strict yet kind mother, to a non-tolerating council member when called for. Sometimes she’d watch her fathers nimble hands twist and turn as he stitched and sculpted as a surgeon. When she got a little older she’d watch Jayce’s mind turning in his head as he worked out the mechanics of his creations, which turned into the muscles rippling in his arms as he constructed his devices. Sometimes, Caitlyn credits her marksmanship to her observational skills. She noticed little and huge things. She could see when a target was about to spring up mere seconds before they moved. Her accuracy turned out to be as deadly as her observational skills. When she was in the academy to become an enforcer, her years of observation paid off as she was able to copy movements of higher-ranked enforcers. She would have risen ranks quickly if it wasn’t for her last name.
When she met her, Caitlyn observed many things. The way the shaved side of her head looked a little scruffy as though it hadn’t been shaved in a while, the way the small scar on her top lip raised the left side of her lip a little bit, her piercing steel gray eyes, the elaborate tattoo stretching from her neck to what she presumed to be her lower back. Caitlyn could stare at Vi all day, yet she would still discover and observe new things each time she looked.
Vi was ridden with battle scars, each telling their own stories. Caitlyn hoped one day to uncover the story behind each and every one of them, to memorize the permanent etchings in the other girl's skin that make her all the more beautiful. Caitlyn had so much to learn about this woman, and she was more than willing to take the time to learn.
One of the things Caitlyn observed was within Vi’s arms, more specifically her hands. Sure, Caitlyn could spend countless hours staring at the rippling muscles in Vi’s arms to no end, but Caitlyn noticed something more within those muscular hands.
Vi has spent her whole life defending both herself and her sister with her hands, ripping and tearing the flesh of her knuckles over and over again. Hands that have pummeled and most likely killed the likes of undercity goons looking to cause trouble or to harm someone. Hands that have spent hours punching a wall or pad to keep Vi’s body prepared for anything. Hands that have gripped and climbed almost every surface in the undercity to easily navigate around the bustling streets. Hands that have been placed in front of Vi’s face to protect her from the onslaught of violence brought by the wardens and other inmates of Stillwater. Hands that have been through Hell and back.
Where most would see a violent brute who only knows how to use her hands for violence, Caitlyn saw something else. Vi’s hands are a force of nature, like a violent river, constantly crushing anything in her path to get to her destination. A dangerous current that could get you swept away until you wake up on a shore bloodied and bruised. Yet able to be calm and steady, slowly drifting down a path like a gentle stream making its way slowly through the world. The way Vi would stroke and caress Caitlyn’s body on a quiet night after beating various people to the edge of their lives. The way she would cup Caitlyn’s face like she was the most delicate thing in the world to bring her into an even more delicate kiss. The way she would stitch any cuts on Caitlyn with the steady hands of a trained professional. The way Caitlyn could feel her calloused hands slowly snake around her waist in the night, as the two replenished their energy for the next day.
Caitlyn has observed countless things in her life, ranging from life threatening to barely moving, but never has Caitlyn observed something that meant so much to her.