Chapter Text
Vi might know the undercity like the back of her hand, but if that’s true then she knows topside like a topographic military map. She’s committed every winding street to memory, and knows which buildings are scalable and which aren’t. When Vi was a kid—she’s fifteen now—she would look at Piltover from afar and stare so intently at the shape of the gleaming cityscape that she would imagine graphite lines of her own etched around the buildings.
It’s Progress Day. Vi hasn’t told her friends she’s headed topside because she’ll need to be alone in order to slip through the bustling crowds without being noticed. With any luck, she’ll spot a few purses hanging low enough on belts to slit open.
Vi throws herself up and across rooftops, hindered slightly by the well-made, sleek cloak she stole from a market in the upper ring of the city a few weeks ago. Her shoulder hurts, too; she was stupid enough to sprain it in a fight against two thugs in the Lanes the other day and it still hasn’t healed up. Vi winces as she hauls herself up onto a balcony, but she’s loath to let it bother her. A little pain isn’t enough to slow her down.
A more pressing concern is the slim chance she’ll be recognised as being from the undercity despite her stolen cloak. She’s definitely still dirty. It's doubtful that even the thorough scrub she gave herself this morning was enough to wash away the Lanes’ characteristic reek. Still, a single glance down at the streets far below her is enough to know that she’ll easily be able to lose any prying eyes among the bustling crowds.
She lands in an alleyway. Taking a bracing breath to prepare herself, she lifts her hood and steps out into the blazing light of the summer day. Voices and laughter envelop her, an electric ocean of excitement brimming with the inherent contentedness of the upper class. Vi walks slowly, appraising the festivities. She’s here on business, but the crisp scent of toffee apples and candy awakens an irritating childish instinct to join the people gathered around the stalls.
Mouth watering, Vi turns away. It’s not like she has the money to pay for anything. She centres herself and, shielding her eyes against the domineering sun, she casts her gaze across the street. There . Two businessmen both turned the same way, admiring the grotesque spectacle of Progress Day. While they’re distracted by conversation, Vi flicks out her penknife. As she walks by, she moves like a whip and slices through one of the men’s bulging pockets. A pouch falls out. Vi grabs it, slipping it into an inner compartment of her cloak before disappearing into the crowd.
She passes a few hours that way, wandering the street and striking unsuspecting patrons every twenty-five minutes or so. Her cloak is heavy, but Vi isn’t quite ready to let go of the heady stream of dopamine that’s released every time another unlucky topsider’s valuables slip into her waiting palm. She might addicted to this, but it’s better than abusing substances. Heaven knows she’s witnessed enough of that in the Lanes. Besides, she’d rather have a lucrative vice like sticky fingers rather than having a propensity to enjoy something that would seize her heart and suck the life from her body.
Waiting by an ornate fountain for a few moments, Vi peers at her reflection in the rippling water. It’s clear—so clear. Drinking water. There’s nothing like it in the undercity, where they boil everything they drink and hope it’s enough to rid the brown water of germs. Vi feels herself beginning to sweat in the oppressive heat. Stuck briefly in her head, she dips a distracted hand into the water and enjoys the cooling sensation on her fingertips. She files away the injustice to be angry about later.
Vi steps back, pushing away the confusing bitterness and reverence that plagues her. As she looks up, her vision snags on a female cadet leaning against a pillar a half dozen metres away. She looks to be about the same age, and her hair is so dark that it appears almost blue in the light. Everything about her sings of topside privilege: the healthy glow of her skin, her polished boots, her filed nails. Arms folded, her chin is tilted towards the live music across the square. Away from Vi.
The top of a handkerchief sticks out of her back pocket. It looks expensive—it would sell decently in the undercity. Glancing back into the hateful fountain, then at the cadet, Vi makes a decision.
She doesn’t even breathe as she softly plucks the creamy handkerchief from the cadet’s pocket. But before she can back away, the cadet spins around and locks a tight hand around Vi’s wrist. Her grip is bruising and her gaze is so fierce that Vi nearly crumbles to pieces then and there. Breath caught in her lungs, she forces herself not to break out of the cadet’s grip. Instead, she offers her a winning smile. “You dropped your handkerchief.”
Mouth forming a rounded shape, she drops Vi’s wrist. “Oh! I’m so sorry.” She takes back the handkerchief. “I think you startled me.”
Vi is taken aback by her clipped accent. It’s different. Interesting. “You’re telling me ,” Vi murmurs, rubbing her sore wrist. The girl shamefully follows the movement. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have crept up on an enforcer.”
“Maybe. But I’m not an enforcer," she clarifies. "Not yet, anyway. I’m a cadet.”
Vi nods at her uniform. “I can tell. You’re young to be working for them.”
“I know, but I’ve wanted to join the force ever since I was a kid,” she admits, gaze falling to her clean leather boots. She looks as though she’s about to say something more, but shakes her head in dismissal. Rather than meeting Vi’s eyes, she evaluates the carts of expensive food lined up in ranks along the street. “I’m really sorry for grabbing you. Let me buy you something? To apologise.”
Vi looks longingly at the food, swallowing the lump in her throat. “No. No, that’s okay.”
“Please.” The cadet steps forward. In response, Vi’s nerves prickle with fear and curiosity.
She wants so badly to get out of here, but she also doesn’t want this girl to leave. Curiosity wins out. “Tell me your name first.”
“It’s Caitlyn,” she responds easily, as if that isn’t the greatest admission of faith she could’ve made. Offering an elbow, she raises a brow. “Now, can I get you something?”
They take a seat on a wall overlooking the square. Vi cradles a small packet of fudge, occasionally passing it over to Caitlyn. The fudge melts on her tongue, sweet and velvety and terrifying. “This stuff is good,” she mumbles.
Caitlyn smiles. “Not as good as the kind my mum and I used to make.”
It’s almost enough to soften Vi, but a sole glance at her cadet uniform squashes the warm feeling as soon as it arises. She doesn’t respond, instead placing another small square of fudge on her tongue. A new act has taken up the stage across the square: a young man with a violin. He carefully coaxes a melody from the violin, building atop it with increasing fervour. Vi can’t imagine taking any time to hone a skill at something so useless. Fighting is what gets her places. Stealthily, she rolls her sore shoulder.
“The gala’s starting soon,” Caitlyn comments. “Are you going?”
“No.”
“Why’s that? You don’t want to see the new inventions?”
“Don’t really care about them.”
“But they’re the whole point of Progress Day.” Caitlyn nudges her. “Won’t you come with me? It’s open to the public,” she adds. The last comment strikes a chord in Vi. Why would she say that if she believed Vi was from around here?
She knows. She knows. Taking a breath, Vi summons the courage to meet her eyes. “Why do you want to become an enforcer?”
Caitlyn recoils. “I already told you. I’ve wanted to become one—”
“Since you were a kid, I know. But what is about the force that seems so glamorous to you?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again. Finally, she speaks. “I don’t think it’s glamorous.”
“Sure about that?”
“Yes, I’m sure.” Caitlyn wipes her glistening forehead, clearly as affected by the heat as Vi. It radiates down, brutal and intoxicating. “I wish they didn’t hold Progress Day in summer,” she mutters.
Vi’s not happy with the change of subject. “Come on, princess,” she complains. “Did you join up because you like violence? Because you like power? Because—”
“I don’t know,” Caitlyn interrupts. “I suppose I do enjoy violence. After all, I’m an excellent shot.”
“Those aren’t the same thing.”
“I’m aware.” She sighs. “I just want to protect my world.”
Vi bristles. She’s aware pressing an enforcer this hard is a stupid move, but a persistent question leaps to her tongue anyway. “Why?”
Confusion flutters across Caitlyn’s brow. “Why?” she repeats.
Vi doesn’t elaborate. Her world. Does she mean topside or the entirety of Piltover? Either way, the idea of protecting the current status quo nauseates Vi. She quietly fidgets with the smooth seam of her cloak. Wearing clothing that’s not frayed at the edges is a strange feeling.
Caitlyn notices. Vi’s pretty sure she notices everything. “You’re different to most people I know.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Defensive. Too defensive.
Caitlyn shakes her head. “You’re tough. And mean. And what happened to your shoulder, by the way?”
The question comes out of left field. How the fuck did she notice that? “Aspiring detective, are you?” It takes a Herculean effort to resist the urge to bare her teeth at Caitlyn. She’s managed to be polite so far, and she can keep it up a short while longer.
“Not at all. Just a concerned citizen.” Caitlyn’s blue eyes seem honest. Vi tries not to take the way they look in the sunlight as a personal offence.
She pauses. “You should.”
“Should what?”
“Become a detective. Put those sharp eyes to use.”
At that, Caitlyn smiles. “You’re sweet.”
She’s wrong. So wrong. But Vi is fifteen and malleable and oh-so vulnerable to kind words, and the scoff she gives in response sounds forced even to her own ears. Trying not to look blindsided, she takes another bite of fudge.
Caitlyn reaches out a palm. Vi looks at her, uncertain. “What?”
She rolls her eyes. “Can I have a piece?”
Vi’s eyes snap open. “Oh! Oh. Yeah.”
Caitlyn laughs. The sound rings out, and Vi thinks she might die to hear it again. Before she can even begin to process anything else, Caitlyn hops down from the wall. “You’re coming to the gala with me. I’ve decided.” She takes a few steps forward before casting a watchful glance back at Vi. “Well?”
Vi is so endlessly stupid. Tucking the bag of fudge into her cloak, she follows Caitlyn.
The gala is, as Caitlyn mentioned, open to the public. It consists of stall after stall of gorgeous and delicate machinery, each one more intricate than the last. Vi doesn’t understand any of it, but it’s easy to measure their usefulness and beauty according to the response each invention draws from Caitlyn. Walking beside her already feels familiar, and Vi tries not to feel painfully ill at ease among the wealthy patrons and curious students.
“You’re acting like a cornered animal. Nothing’s going to explode, you know,” Caitlyn pokes.
“Sure,” Vi responds, eyeing up some sort of cooking appliance with multiple blades tucked into its metal body. In all honesty, she’s hoping to find something that can do damage. With luck, she'll be able to pocket a weapon for Powder.
Someone comes onstage to a round of applause. “Oh, look!” Caitlyn points out. “There’s Heimerdinger.” Vi is uninterested, but it’s easy enough to pass the time by clapping dutifully at intervals and studying Caitlyn’s face.
No one notices Vi, or tries to pull her aside. With Caitlyn at her side, she's one of them.
They leave the gala together, breathless and happy. Vi feels staggered—like she’s been privy to a glimpse of a new world. In some ways, she supposes she has.
They find their way into a side street. It’s over, Vi tells herself. Go home. “Thanks, princess,” she says. “I had a nice time today.”
“Will you come back?” Caitlyn takes her hand, traces her bruised knuckles. She tries not to jolt in shock. How can Caitlyn see the violence showing through Vi’s near-translucent skin and not care? “Tomorrow night,” she continues. “I’m free to meet after I finish patrol.”
Vi has so much to do. Messes to clean up. Fights to finish. A sister to look after. She doesn’t have time to be trouncing around with some pretty cadet from topside for—what? What is it that she even wants from Caitlyn? If she could see the variety of purses and coins tucked into her cloak she’d be throwing Vi behind bars, not—not propositioning her. “What would we even do?” she whispers.
“Anything,” Caitlyn responds fervently. She still hasn’t go of Vi’s hand. “You could show me some tricks with those fists. Teach me to fight better than they do at the academy. Dirtier.”
“You’ve never even seen me fight,” Vi shoots back.
“I don’t need to. It’s in the way you move.”
“You’ll regret this,” she warns. “I know you think I’m harmless in your company, but you’re being stupid. You’ve never seen the undercity firsthand.” And there it is. The first blatant statement of what they both know—that Vi isn’t a topsider. That she shouldn’t be here.
Caitlyn releases her. “Whatever. I’m just a kid, right?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.” She pauses. “How old are you, anyway?”
Vi hesitates. Could the truth hurt her? “Fifteen,” she says at last.
Caitlyn’s lip quirks, and everything softens. “I’m sixteen.”
“Fuck off.” They laugh in unison. Something is glowing warmly in Vi’s ribcage. On instinct, she tugs Caitlyn close, looping her arms carefully around her. Vi probably smells, but Caitlyn doesn’t seem to care as she rests her head on Vi’s shoulder. “Hey, princess. Can I tell you something?”
Caitlyn pulls away. “Tell me what?”
“If I do, you’ve gotta promise you won’t flip.”
“It’s okay. I know what you’re going to say.”
Screw it. “I was going to steal—”
“My handkerchief,” Caitlyn interrupts. She grins teasingly. “I’m aware.”
The revelation sizzles through Vi. “You’re such a shit.” She can’t resist pulling Caitlyn in again, drunk on her soft warmth and the expensive scent of her shampoo. “What the hell?” she whispers, dumbfounded. “I’m hugging an enforcer."
“A cadet,” she corrects. Something akin to vulnerability creeps into her eyes. “So? What do you say? You’re going to meet me, right?”
Vi rolls her eyes. “Don’t bet on it.” Then, after a moment: “I’ll come.”
“I’ll visit you in the undercity, too.”
She doesn’t believe it. It’s a step too far; there’s something integrally awful about the idea of Caitlyn against the cold, dark backdrop of the Lanes. She might hate Vi if she saw where she lives. Vi shakes her head, trying to remain casual. “You won’t.”
“Yes, I will,” Caitlyn says simply. “Besides, you tried topside food. It follows that I need to try something from your home.”
Vi arches a brow. With a raw voice, she asks, “Is this some sort of social experiment?”
“I guess,” she responds. “If you’re the subject of my research.”
If Vi was capable of melting, she would have turned to liquid in that moment. Instead, she looks out over the city towards the setting sun. The red-hued light it emits envelops them, coating Caitlyn’s features in molten gold. Vi feels covered by it—comforted by it. “Vi,” she says quietly.
“What?”
“My name,” she grits out. “It’s Vi.”
Caitlyn brushes her fingertips over Vi’s sleeve. “Okay. See you tomorrow night?”
She can only nod as Caitlyn leaves. The place they were standing becomes an empty void only a few heartbeats later.