Chapter Text
The night they arrived in Holdrum, Powder had insisted on trying out each and every one of the lavish amenities the Crystal Rose Resort had to offer. She’d taken apart the gleaming brass hairdryer, tinkered with the radiator so it turned their bedroom into a sauna, and, after an hour of messy experimentation, complained that bath “bombs” were not at all like real bombs. She’d then slumped on the plush, king-size bed and passed out for fourteen hours.
Over the past few days, it had become clear to Vi that the best part of their suite was the bathroom. It was a bright, cavernous place, lined with wide glass windows that filled the room with soft light, including one that spanned the entire length of the gargantuan bathtub.
With twelve different jacuzzi settings and enough space to fit at least five people, the tub was an absurd Piltie triumph of personal hygiene. As Vi sunk deeper in the rapidly-cooling bathwater, she almost felt like she was out there in the calm saltwater. The white sand below shone almost gold in the early-morning light, the water a perfect, translucent turquoise.
It was hard to believe that just a few miles away in Zaun, this same water, this same sand, became a tumult of toxic sludge and trash.
Vi pulled the plug from the drain and stood, wrapping herself in a big, fluffy towel. As she stepped out onto the plush bathmat, Vi examined her reflection in the wall-length mirror. She ran a hand through neatly-trimmed pink hair, no longer asymmetrical like she’d liked to wear it when she was younger. Her steel earrings had been exchanged for a glinting gold that rivaled the beach below.
She was the same, really, underneath the pristine gowns and suits she and Powder had carefully picked out—the same skin that turned pink in hot bathwater, the same freckles that came out in earnest in the summer sun, the same old scars they now hid with a thick layer of makeup. The same as the bright blue water that flowed into the Undercity and came out brownish-green, full of noxious waste.
“Ready for your makeover, sis?” Powder’s voice made her jump.
“Fuck, Powder, you scared the shit out of me.” Vi wrapped herself tighter in the towel. “Ever heard of knocking?”
Powder grinned, approaching with blow-dryer in hand. “Don’t be such a prude, sis.”
Vi rolled her eyes, but acquiesced.
Powder hustled her closer to the mirror and flipped the switch on the hair dryer. Vi closed her eyes. She’d never admit it, but this was the best part of any job—feeling Powder’s fingers work slowly and carefully through her hair, bathed in the warm air flowing out of this Piltovan contraption.
Vi was buttoned up in her best morning-casual getup, scars concealed, neck spritzed with a cologne they’d long since stopped trying to pronounce the name of.
“How do I look?” she asked, straightening her collar.
“Detestable, sis.”
Vi grinned and ruffled her sister’s hair. “Well, that’s what we’re goin’ for, Pow-Pow.”
“You’re much better at it than me, for what it’s worth,” Powder said, flopping back onto the massive bed. “I like my job just fine.”
“And you’ve gotten real good at it, Pow. Anyway, you know the drill. I’ll check in before dinner.”
“You got it,” Powder said, cocking a finger gun at her from across the room. “Get me my airship, handsome.”
Vi hesitated at the door, grinning playfully. “You mean blimp?”
Powder groaned and slid off the bed to push Vi out the door. “Just make us some money, okay?”
“Yes, captain. Actually, do blimps have capt—”
“Go.” Powder gave her a shove and locked the door behind her.
Chuckling, Vi began the long trek down to the breakfast room. She noticed a couple of women waiting for the elevator down the hall and darted toward the door to the stairwell instead. Vi leaned against the heavy door as it shut, her mind racing. She always needed a few moments, every time she left Powder and went out into this world.
It always settled over her slowly, like a trickle of water that flowed from the crown of her head all the way down to her toes. She had a new voice with softer words, words designed to charm and satisfy rather than bite and bruise. Her arms moved differently when she slid all of the fury out of them, when she replaced it with quiet, confident strength. She was taller, too, with a straight back—neutral, simple, easy—less a person and more a mirror that reflected back the best parts of whoever was in front of her. She let out a long breath and walked down the steps, a new care in her stride and a small, practiced smile on her lips.
—
The breakfast room was a wide, greenhouse-like space in the southern wing of the resort. Intricate metalwork kept oddly-shaped panes of glass balanced overhead, casting soft, curling shadows onto the mosaiced floor beneath Vi’s patent leather shoes.
“Breakfast for one, sir,” she said airily to the host, giving him a winning smile. When he led her past a familiar, bright blonde head halfway to her assigned table, she gave a calculated and dramatic double-take. “Ms. Salo, good morning!”
Vi turned to the side, throwing up an apologetic hand to the host, who hung back. Vi was overjoyed to see Ms. Salo again, just absolutely thrilled to ruffle the carefully groomed hair of poro that sat on Ms. Salo’s lap and ate her scraps.
Vi looked up into the older woman’s eyes, her cheeks turning pink with Vi’s careful attentiveness. In a small voice, Ms. Salo—call me Lucetta, she insisted, with a bat of her eyelashes—asked if Vi might join her for breakfast. There was nothing Vi would like more. She made a show of asking the host politely to be seated next to Ms. Salo, making gracious apologies over the inconvenience, that winning smile never once leaving her lips.
This one was going to be easy. She’d met Lucetta last year at the Crystal Rose Resort, paying her some careful attention in case it paid off later. Over the past few days, it had become clear that she’d been on the woman’s mind for months. Ms. Salo was a lonely divorcée just at the tail end of middle age, so tied up in the family business that she simply hadn’t had time to find someone new. She was only stopping over at the resort for a few days of “restoration” on a long trip, visiting her house’s many business interests across the continent.
For her part, Vi was a Shuriman trader, a rags-to-riches case, Piltovan on her mother’s side. So Lucetta had taken it upon herself to explain the houses on the council, recount the endless flow of gossip about the most preeminent people in society, and make introductions—oh, Lucetta couldn’t wait to introduce her to everyone tonight at the dance.
“A dance?” Vi asked, letting the smile on her face grow ever wider. “Make sure to save me a number—I’ve been told I’m not so bad,” she said with a wink that turned her mark an even brighter shade of pink.
By the time Vi had put her spoon down on the correct side of her plate, the breakfast room was bustling with the crème de la crème of Piltover society. Vi excused herself—time to change for the beach, maybe she'd see Lucetta there—and headed for the door.
Vi stopped in her tracks. There was a woman there, standing near the host’s podium, staring right at her. She was pure elegance, a white summery dress flowing just past her knees, navy hair brushing her sleek shoulders and shining in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the panes of glass above. Vi slid past her through the door to the lobby, but she was almost sure she could feel the woman’s vivid blue eyes following her.
—
Cocktail “hour” was a misnomer—it lasted at least four, bridging the apparently unbearable chasm between lunchtime drinks and dinnertime drinks.
As Vi pressed a mimosa on a giggly Lucette, she found her eyes drawn again to the other side of the pool deck, where the navy-haired woman was doing much the same with a woman at least 20 years her senior. In the couple hours Vi had been watching, they’d moved from the bar to the cocktail tables to twin lounge chairs by the pool, getting closer to each other with every move. The younger woman, now wearing a purple bikini and a sheer white coverup, was deep in conversation with her companion, propped up on one elbow. She reached over to rub a stray smear of sunscreen into the older woman’s shoulder.
It could be her mother, Vi supposed, turning back to beam at Lucette, to drink in whatever anecdotes she was spilling about her recent trip to Shurima—something about medicinal plants and import restrictions. Her gaze flicked back to the lounge chairs momentarily, just catching the older woman start to stand, the younger woman brushing her forearm as they parted.
Something told Vi this wasn’t her mother, though. Was it too much to imagine that the younger woman could be at the same game? That she, too, could have some kid sister in tow, liberating the valuables of Runeterra’s elite? Or maybe she played a different game—she could be a gold-digger, or the kind of fur-trimmed trophy wife whose spouses had unusually short life expectancies.
So it was mainly professional curiosity that led Vi over to the bar where the navy-haired woman was waiting alone while Lucette used the little ladies’ room. Vi ordered herself something nonalcoholic (always better to keep the senses sharp) and Lucetta something decidedly stronger, then looked to the side and caught the woman’s eye.
“Hi,” she said, putting on her well-practiced grin and extending a hand. “I’m Vi.” It was a simple opener—she wasn’t feeling quite bold enough to pull together a compliment on this woman’s clothing, her hair, her past philanthropic work (always reasonable to assume she’d done some and be told the details, at mind-numbing length, later on in the evening).
“Caitlyn,” the woman said, giving her hand a delicate shake.
“Haven’t seen you around before.”
Caitlyn didn’t respond right away, and Vi had the distinct impression that she was sizing her up.
“I haven’t been since I was a child. My family used to spend all summer here—it’s lovely this time of year.” Something about the way she spoke was careful. Perfectly courteous and charming, but ever so slightly cautious.
Vi took a sip of the cocktail the bartender slid over to her and wondered whether this woman ever really was here as a child, spending more money on bathtubs and fancy breakfast than the entire population of the Lanes would see in a lifetime. Her mind supplied a different possibility: a smaller, ganglier Caitlyn, running parallel to Vi down a ramshackle street in Zaun.
“Fancy,” Vi said without thinking, kicking herself the moment the word left her lips. She was a wealthy Shuriman trader, used to high society—what was wrong with her? Fancy? Everything was fancy here, so nothing was fancy to these fucking people, so—
Caitlyn let out a sudden, breathy laugh, her features lighting up in a way they hadn’t before. “I suppose it is, isn’t it?”
Vi’s cheeks were burning, but she laughed, too, desperate to smooth over the awkward moment. “Gotta be honest about it sometimes, y’know?” She took a long gulp of her drink. “Well, anyhow. Nice to meet you, Caitlyn.”
Vi scooped up Lucetta’s drink and turned away from the bar, eager to flee before she could do any more damage. Lucetta was already picking her way through the crowd toward Vi, spouting off bashful you shouldn’t haves as Vi passed her her drink.
But Caitlyn continued to linger in her mind, and at the edge of her vision, until the sun went down over the ocean. As Vi began her climb up the ornate staircase to go change for dinner, she spied a pair of bright blue eyes following her.