Archive of Our Own

Caitlyn Kiramman has been one year in the Enforcer academy when she finally snaps.

With her family's wealth, Caitlyn isn't eligible for a bed in the academy's dormitory, no matter how much she might want one to get away. So she lives at home, where her mother has been making her life hellish.

Every morning, breakfast is served with a side of disappointment. Sometimes she varies it up with guilt instead. Caitlyn struggles to understand why she even allows her to attend the academy, if it's so big a deal. Or why her father won't stand up for her more, if he believes she's making the right choice.

Well, on this morning Caitlyn doesn't come down for toast and reproaches. It's the last month of summer—holidays—and her mother has used and abused that free time. But not today.

Cait pulls the box she keeps under her bed, her knick knacks box, private enough that no one ever digs in it, not even the servants. At the bottom she keeps a collection of outfits that would make her mother... concerned. Maybe even furious. Cait isn't sure, she's been careful never to be seen in them.

The pants have purple vertical stripes, the belt has a built in holster. The shirt... She has three, but she picks the drabber one, black, with blue trims and an asymmetrical cut, rusty iron clips closing it on the left side. The sleeves come from a different outfit, the blue of it not matching, the thread used to join them is red and obvious.

She can barely recognise the Councillor's daughter in the mirror. She uses a scarf to hide away her hair, a touch of makeup to darken her lips, and voila.

Caitlyn Kiramman becomes Cait.

Today is the last day of the Solunar festival, and she won't waste it at the stupid convention her mother wants them to attend. She cracks the window open and slips out. It's easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

Powder is counting her bullets when her father walks in.

'Child, what is this?' Silco asks.

Powder cocks her head, curious. He sounds concerned. She isn't sure why. 'What is what?'

'I thought you were going to the festival?'

'I am.'

Silco's one eyebrow creeps up, up, up his forehead. Very concerned.

'Why are you taking enough munition to kill everyone there, then? I'd very much appreciate it if you wouldn't go on a killing spree. I think your sister would kill me if you did.'

'Oooh, you're asking what's those?' Powder asks, twirling a bullet between her fingers. 'I told you about them yesterday!' She squints at him, deciding whether she should be upset or not. 'You weren't listening.'

Silco comes closer and pinches her cheek. 'Maybe you can refresh my memory.'

'They're blanks that burst glitter. Glitter bullets!'

'You mentioned it,' Silco says with a nod, 'but I thought they were prototypes?'

'They are.' She shrugs. 'Got to test them, right?'

More concern on Silco's face. He opens his mouth once, closes it without saying anything. Then he sighs, bends down to kiss her forehead.

'Fine. But don't kill anyone, alright?'

Powder laughs. 'We're shooting paper targets, you know? Why don't you come too?'

Silco shakes his head and turns around, heading out already. 'You know I'm busy at the moment. I was just looking for Vi. We can go all together next year.'

Powder shrugs, unconcerned. Silco being busy is like wet water and stinky smog. Powder was more surprised by her sister saying she couldn't come, but maybe she shouldn't have waited for the last day to ask.

No matter.

'I'll bring you back all the prizes!' she calls after Silco.

'Looking forward to it,' he replies before closing the door.

The Solunar festival is a big event for both Zaun and Piltover, and takes place every year from the promenade level of the Undercity and all the way up to Piltover's lower jardins.

Merchants, craftsmen, and artists come from all over Runeterra, as well as food carts, wafting delicious exotic smells over the crowds.

The bridges are closed to cars for the week and booths are open along both sides, turning them into market streets. There's amber from North Noxus, rolls of silk from Ionia, books in foreign languages, all the way down to artists selling their work on upturned crates or spread on a sheet on the ground. It's busy, messy, and gets even wilder when entering the promenade.

There the focus is on the competition side of the festival. Anyone can enter, and the games range from friendly buzzball matches to multi day tournaments.

The last day though, is the one with the shooting competitions. There's cash prizes, but also toys, or coupons that can be used across the rest of the festival. Cait is here to decompress, but she also has a competitive streak. She wouldn't mind wiping the place clean.

She makes her way to one of the criers to get a leaflet with the day's schedule. The paper is grey and cheap, the ink of it staining her fingers. It leads her to a long shooting range running alongside the edge of one of the concourses.

There are already people milling about, waiting for the next round to start. Cait finds the organiser and signs herself up. She's handed a toy gun and a box of ammunition, all blanks.

She hangs a little awkwardly at the edge of the crowd. Most of the participants are Zaunites, but there's an Ionian man, and two very muscular Noxian women speaking with a very thick accent to a blue haired girl. Now her Cait pays special attention to. She's a gangly teenager, maybe four or five years younger than she is, with long braids down her back, slander arms and bony hips. On those are two guns, one custom made, the other a tinkered Merlington Stainless model 44, Cait is certain. She'd drooled all over one last time her father took her to the gunsmith. It had been the only one they had, and now Cait wonders that it, or one just like it, is painted in bright pink and blue and hanging at that bony Zaunite hip.

She frowns, wondering if she should challenge the girl. She hasn't heard anything about the gunsmith being robbed, and this gun looks well used, but it's such a rare model, she can't have—

Her musings are interrupted by a chime. The organiser, an old Vastaya, claps his hands and announces they're about to have a training round, all shooting together at their own target, so they can get used to the guns.

Which is great, Cait soon discovers, because the gun is awful. At least she isn't the only one struggling to adjust. She's too focused on her own to really keep track of others, but anyway they all shoot separately during the competition proper. All she has to do is try her best and withstand everyone's gazes as she does.

Not everyone is good at that. The Ionian fidgets and glances over his shoulder. He gets disqualified by missing too many targets. A loud ginger Zaunite boy goes next. He's good, precise, misses almost none of the targets, but he's too slow, and his score suffers for it. Several more people are disqualified. Then it's the turn of the two Noxians, who don't mind the attention. They loudly encourage each other, and everyone cheers when the second one snaps the best score.

'Doesn't matter though,' the Zaunite boy mutters to one of his friends. 'They're gonna get Jinxed.'

Cait is so shocked by this comment that she turns to them and asks, 'What do you mean? Is it rigged?'

The group, made out of the ginger boy, his brother, who’s a carbon copy of him but a head shorter, and a tall blonde girl in her late teens, all stare at her like she grew a second head. She feels herself blushing and wonders if they spotted her Piltovan accent.

'You don't know Jinx?' the boy asks, incredulous.

'Ah. Uh, no?'

There's a tense silence and then general laughter. Cait is too confused to feel relieved. They're laughing at her ignorance, not her accent. A slight upgrade.

'Look,' the girl says, pointing back towards the stand. 'This is the Jinx.'

The blue haired girl has stepped up to take her turn. She's twirling the toy gun with flourish, loading the blanks and whistling a tune.

'Why is she called Jinx?' Cait asks.

'Ah, you'll see.'

The bell chimes, the first target snaps up, and immediately goes back down. Up, down, up, down, every target barely having time to materialise before they're sent backwards with a snap and a bang.

Cait feels her jaw come loose and a tingling rush of awe and excitement courses through her.

'Janna...' the youngest mutters beside her.

'Yeah man,' the girl agrees.

'Dammit, I'm in love again,' the boy says with a groan.

The last target collapses, the chrono stops at twenty seconds, and everyone erupts in collective cheer. Cait finds herself clapping too, even though she's next in line. The two Noxian women jostle Jinx with fake outrage. Jinx herself blows imaginary smoke from her gun and strikes poses, clearly having fun.

Fun, Cait tells herself as she walks up to the stand. I came here to have fun too.

Silence (as close to it as possible on the busy esplanade on the edge of the festival) falls back on the participants as they all watch her take position.

Cait takes a deep breath. She lets everything go. Her mother, the academy, the weight of expectations, the gazes running along her back...

The first target pops up, and she fires—

'Twenty six!!' the boy screams as she returns to them after the last target falls and her time shows up. 'You're so good!'

They all slap her back in congratulation.

'Not good enough,' Cait says with a laugh.

'Nah, that was some sexy shooting. You're worthy.'

'Don't make a face like that! So what if you came second? Second after Jinx means you basically won.'

'Yeah, don't sweat it,' says the boy. 'Nobody wins against Jinx. She's too cute.'

'Why don't you ask her out already?' the girl says with the distinct annoyance of someone who's repeating themselves. 'Stop being a creep trying to outgun her. Just talk to her.'

'No way! I don't wanna die, man! You know how her dad is.'

'I think I'll go talk to her myself,' Cait declares.

Stunned silence meets her words, but she doesn't stay long enough to find out why.

'Hey! Is that a Merl—'

'Here's your prize!' the old Vastaya declares, cutting Cait off as he approaches with a large plushie.

'Yes!' Jinx exclaims, grabbing the plushie with both arms. It's a shark, Cait realises. 'Thank you, mister Tordos, you're the best!'

'No, after four years of you shaving the top score down bit by bit, I think you are the best, my dear,' says Tordos before turning away, shaking his head.

'You were saying?' Jinx asks, turning to Cait.

'Ah. The gun. That one. It's... It's a Merlington, right?'

Jinx grins, and there's an edge to it. Mischievous, in a bad way. 

'Nerd,' she says, deadpan.

Cait finds herself blushing, caught off guard. She isn't sure if it's a joke or mockery. This girl has to be as bad a gun nerd as she is, she's just too good a shot.

'Is that really what you came to ask?' Jinx continues.

'I don't know. I guess? You were just so fast, I figured we—'

'Hey, can we do this while walking?'

Cait blinks, confused. 'Sure, why?'

'I promised my dad a prize from each stand, so I have to keep going to do them all.'

Now that makes Cait laugh. 'I was planning on winning a few myself, I hope that's alright with you!'

'You can try, Piltie girl.'

'Wh—'

Jinx has already turned away to leave, and Cait gives a hasty wave to the group of Zaunite kids before running after her.

'How did you know I'm from Piltover?' she calls out after Jinx.

'Can you not hear yourself?' comes the quick-fire reply. 'How did you know... You opened your mouth, is how. You think wearing stripey pants is all it takes to pass? I mean, I like them, but you know...'

Cait huffs and catches back up with the girl. 'Alright, well, nice to meet you, Jinx. I'm Cait.'

'I'm Powder,' the girl counters, glancing sideways at her, never slowing down. 'You don't get to call me Jinx.'

'Ah, sorry, I was told—'

'Ooh, do all Pilties believe everything they're told?'

'Alright, it was rude, I could have asked. Anyway, is it really a Merlington?'

Powder huffs, but she sounds amused. Her grin is less ferocious as she whips the gun out, twirls it around her finger and hands it to Cait. 'Model 44, but I tinkered with it.'

'I knew it!' Cait bursts excitedly. 'Where did you get it?'

'I don't know, my dad got it for me, it was a present.'

Cait checks the chamber and gasps as she finds it loaded.

'It's glitter blanks,' Powder says pre-emptively. 'Not live. You should pop one, actually.'

'No way, not in the city!'

Powder blinks at her like she just spoke Demacian. 'Where else are you gonna shoot?'

'Well, I—'

Cait holds her tongue, suddenly remembering that she's not just Cait, not even just a Piltovan Cait, but Caitlyn Kiramman, with country estates and countless opportunities to go shooting in the wild. Sure, it's strange to see a Zaunite with an expensive gun, but she's certain Powder doesn't have the privilege of a private shooting range, no matter how rich her father might be.

She doesn't want to be Caitlyn today, but somehow she can't escape her.

She settles for 'Not in the city.'

Powder gives her a knowing smile.

They approach the next stand, and this one has a serious queue. They get in line, shuffling forward each time someone leaves the stand.

'This one is all about accuracy,' Powder notes, 'and anyone can win the top prizes, so you can try and beat me all you want, I'm still getting it.'

'You sound so confident,' Cait says, teasing. 'Can you even live with yourself if I beat you at it?'

Powder's smile turns wolfish again. 'That can't happen, so yeah, I'm pretty sure of myself.'

Cait scoffs. 'I only fell short of your score by six seconds! You should feel a little more worried.'

'Six... Seconds... Is... A... Very... Long... Time!' Powder says, taking approximately six seconds to say it.

Cait can't help her laugh. 'Alright. Next one, you'll see, I'll show you. I wasn't trying that hard.'

'Uhuh. Someone's competitive. But you can't beat me.'

'How are you so certain?'

Powder's smile turns into a mocking grin, but there's a lining of sadness to her voice when she says, 'It's just a hobby to you, isn't it?'

Cait frowns. She remembers Sheriff Grayson, asking her why she shoots. What's in it for her. She'd inspired her to make something of her talent, something more than giving her parents an occasion to drink and gush over her exploits. Something worthwhile.

The academy hasn't felt worthwhile, so far. She worries about it, going to sleep with her mothers' rants still ringing in her ears. She wonders if she's on the right path. But at the end of the day she loves her guns, she loves the precision, the way her body and rifle become one, the way she can master both enough to achieve the exact result she set out for—hitting that target in that precise spot...

So yes— 'Yes, it's a hobby,' she says. 'I hope it can be more though, one day.'

Powder shrugs. 'See, shooting is my edge. I need it. It's what I'm good at—I mean, besides the bombs.'

Cait gasps and blanches. 'What bombs?'

'Hey Jinx,' the organiser of this stand greets. It's their turn, Cait realises. 'Come to steal from me again?'

'You should stop coming every year if you don't want this,' Powder says amicably. 'My friend here thinks she can get your top prize too, watch her.'

'Oh, a new face!' the organiser exclaims, turning to Cait. She's a portly woman, tan of skin and covered in enough scars and tattoos to be a character plucked right out of an illustrated strip featuring Bilgewater pirates. 'Good luck, miss. It's two cogs to participate, and you can use your own gun so long as you have blanks.'

'I made new ones!' Powder exclaims. 'You'll see!"

And see they do: the target explodes in a cloud of pink dust. It's very impressive but there's so much of it that Powder is forced to switch to plain blanks for the targets to be readable.

Cait is at ease with her own trusty handgun, a Weramas Silverback. She goes toe to toe with Powder, never missing a mark. It's hard not to feel smug when the results come out.

'Here you go!' The pirate lady hands both of them the trophy for top prize, a crystal of some sort, encased in a block of resin. 'Don't break it until you're home!'

'What is it, even?' Cait mumbles, looking closely at hers.

'Can you get me a bag, Mena? I'm gonna struggle before I'm done...' Powder says, waving her enormous shark plushie for emphasis.

'I told you I'd win the top prize,' Cait says, unable to deny the glow of satisfaction warming her chest as they make their way to the next stand.

She checks the flyer. The next one has moving targets apparently.

'You're a worthy apprentice,' Powder declares with a nod, dead serious. 'I'll take you on.'

Cait guffaws. 'You'll be begging me for lessons before we're done here.'

Powder clucks her tongue, amused. 'It's going to be fun to crush your illusions.'

Cait laughs even harder at that, delighted by the girl's bravado. But it gives her pause too: whether she wins or loses, she's already having fun. 

Since it's what she came here to do, she figures she's winning no matter what.