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Vi is seeing stars.
They’re beautiful – glittering and infinite, and so close that she imagines she can reach out and take one into her hands.
But she is not outside looking up at the sky – instead, her limbs are as heavy as lead, and her eyes refuse to open. As the stars begin to fade, she hears the distant thrumming of music and the discordant hum of the audience, and there is a warm, metallic liquid pooling under her face at an alarming rate.
The match. Shit.
She opens her eyes, her vision refusing to focus. For a minute, she considers throwing it, lying still and waiting for her opponent’s finishing blow. The bell would ring, and the crowd would begin to holler, frustrated at her lack of performance tonight. Despite it all, she probably deserves to get the shit beat out of her, together with all the disgrace that comes along with it.
Then, she sees something that immediately makes her vision snap into focus.
Caitlyn – or rather, an image that Vi’s mind has conjured of her – stands within the throes of the writhing crowd, her shining blue eyes locked onto Vi’s. Unlike her previous hallucinations, this one remains unsmiling and solemn, her eyebrows furrowed.
For a moment, Vi almost wants to believe that it really is Caitlyn standing there, but she knows better. It isn’t, and it will never be.
Hallucination or not, the humiliation that may come from losing the match in front of ‘Caitlyn’ is almost too much to bear.
And so despite her aching bones and bleeding flesh, she gets up.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⋆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
[12:26am]
Caitlyn Kiramman sneaks a glance at her watch. It’s been forever since she’s wormed her way through the crowd, but the match she has been waiting to see is supposed to start now. At any given moment, the person she’s here to see will enter the ring, and the thought of it alone is enough to make her stomach coil into knots.
Caitlyn breaks into a sprint towards Vi, letting her rifle clatter to the concrete floor. Her hands are quivering from barely concealed rage and dwindling adrenaline. Vi appears uninjured but winded, and Jinx…she’s long disappeared.
“Why the hell did you do that?” Caitlyn’s voice echoes in the stony underground chamber, and Vi swivels to meet her gaze head-on. “How could you let her go?”
Vi at least has the decency to look apologetic and ashamed, but it does less than nothing to quell Caitlyn’s anger. “Caitlyn, she’s my sister–”
“No! I trusted you with this!”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sor–”
But Caitlyn is already shaking her head, hot angry tears filling her eyes. “It’s too late for that, Vi. Go. Just go.”
Vi cannot look at her, tears threatening to fall from her own eyes. When Caitlyn does not go back on her word, Vi pops off her gauntlets, letting them hit the floor. She turns, her steps growing fainter as she departs, and Caitlyn makes no move to stop her.
And that had been the last she had seen of Vi.
Caitlyn had tried her best to forget – after all, isn’t that what Vi had wanted all along? “Do yourself a favor, cupcake…” Vi had said that one evening, so many moons ago, “...and forget me, okay?”
But that had proved to be more difficult than she thought. She spent any sliver of free time thinking about Vi – what had she been up to? Had she been thinking of Caitlyn? Had there been anyone else?
It seems unlikely that her presence would be welcome – why would Vi ever want to see her again after everything that transpired between them? – but Caitlyn prays to whatever wicked god above her that she may have even a morsel of a chance to set things right.
That’s how she finds herself standing in the middle of the crowd in an underground Zaunite boxing ring tonight.
She is surrounded by cheering onlookers on all sides, and she has to plant her feet firmly on the ground to avoid being swept away by the crowd. The air is thick with the scent of blood and alcohol, and Caitlyn watches the crowd egg on a particularly excited onlooker as he pops open a brand new bottle of vodka and sprays its contents all over himself.
A burly fellow dressed in a two-piece suit ducks under the rings and enters the stage, strutting to the middle of it. His appearance is peculiar – green, shining skin, and ears that form a sharp point at the apex. At the sight of him, the crowd goes wild. He must be the emcee, Caitlyn thinks.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to Zaun’s Brawl Bowl!” The emcee shouts, pausing for a few moments to let the noise die down. “As most of you have probably anticipated, our first match for tonight will feature two of our longest-standing champions for this season…”
He stops, letting the audience sink their teeth into this information. Caitlyn also finds herself on the tips of her toes, eagerly awaiting his next words.
“Allow me to call our first champion to the ring: the Wolf!”
At the mention of Vi’s stage name, the crowd shouts louder than they have before, and Caitlyn has to resist the urge to cover her ears. A path forms across from her, on the other side of the stage. The Wolf lifts the barricade, climbing onto the stage and taking a stance next to the emcee.
There is black paint running down her face and lining her eyes, and her hair is muddy, the black dye doing a terrible job of disguising her flaming red hair. The jacket Caitlyn is so used to seeing on her is gone – replaced with nothing but some bandages wrapped around her chest. She looks bigger, rougher, and her hair is chopped messily. Still, those gray eyes are unmistakable – it’s Vi. Caitlyn feels her heart begin to pound.
“She will be going up against Rex Lennox! Rex, come to the ring!”
The emcee announces Vi’s opponent, who does not elicit as many cheers from the crowd as she did. He continues to speak, but Caitlyn’s attention shifts to a group of friends next to her as they begin to whisper.
“Rex should just give up,” one of the men says. He takes a swig at his beer, gold teeth shining inside his mouth.
“You never know. Maybe she’ll mess up and he’ll take the prize home tonight,” another one says.
“Stop acting like you haven’t been here since the Wolf started fighting. You’ve seen her. No one’s taking the crown from her right now.”
Caitlyn’s curiosity has been piqued, and she cannot resist poking around further. “Excuse me,” she starts, “How many games has the Wolf won?”
“Oh, you’re not from around here, are you?” One of the men looks her up and down, evaluating her with his shining metal eye. “Probably hundreds. So far, no one’s even come close to beating her.”
Caitlyn’s eyes return to the ring, watching the two competitors closely. “If you’re so certain about the outcome, why do you keep watching? Isn’t that boring?”
He shrugs. “She’s a different kind of fighter – you’ll see what I mean when the match starts.”
Caitlyn knew Vi was strong – a direct consequence of her time in Stillwater – but she had never actually seen her fight. This was going to be interesting.
Vi’s face is serious and unsmiling – an intimidating enemy to anyone who doesn’t know her. She bounces lightly on her toes as her opponent makes his way to the ring. He’s huge – quite possibly more than a foot taller than Vi, and three times as wide. Vi is capable, but that doesn’t stop the claw of worry from tearing into Caitlyn’s heart. Now, she is not so certain about her decision to venture out here; she doesn’t want to see this. But it’s too late to turn back.
They turn to face each other as the emcee scrambles off stage. Vi’s confidence is visible from her fighting stance – she appears relaxed, bored even. On the other hand, her opponent is trying his best to match Vi’s aura. He might’ve known his place as one of the Bowl’s best fighters, but he knows even better that he doesn’t stand a chance against her. Caitlyn startles as a loud bell rings through the crowded arena, almost missing the second when the fighters move.
The man raises his fist, and Vi dodges it easily. Using her momentum, she swings her right arm up, her fist connecting with his jaw. A loud crunch echoes through the arena, and the man collapses to the floor. He makes no move to get up, and from where Caitlyn stands, she can see that the lower part of his face is bloodied. Pieces of bone stick out of what is supposed to be his jaw, and his eyes glisten with tears.
The bell rings again and the audience roars – the match is over before it even begins.
This continues for what feels like an eternity. Big and small, quick and strong – Vi bests all of them, and Caitlyn cannot take her eyes off her, completely mesmerized. Her punches are filled with insurmountable rage and power, but her posture slouches for a second every time she watches an enemy fall, as if the thrill of the fight is the only thing keeping her on her feet.
Of course, Vi takes a few hits – some so damaging that it would be enough to keep anyone down – but she keeps going. There is a particularly thrilling moment when she is knocked down, and her eyes flutter – only for her gaze to connect with Caitlyn’s. There’s a palpable wave of electricity that passes between them, unbeknownst to everyone else, and for a moment it’s just the both of them in the room.
But she gets up again, spitting blood out of her mouth, and Caitlyn is left to wonder if she had imagined it all.
Soon, the Wolf’s list of opponents is exhausted, and the emcee announces the end of the night’s matches, crowning her as the victor for the umpteenth night. The crowd skitters around Caitlyn, but she keeps her eyes on Vi. The pit fighter leaves the ring, heavy footsteps approaching the door to the backstage, and Caitlyn hesitates.
After so long, Vi is right across the room from her – a hair’s breadth away from making amends. Caitlyn wants it badly, but how is she so sure that that’s what Vi wants as well? Who is to say that if she goes to speak with her now, she won’t turn her down?
All her repressed grief and loneliness bubble into her throat, as sour and stinging as bile, as she watches the Wolf depart – so similar to that one night in the rain so long ago. Her only mistake then was that she had not run after Vi and begged her to stay; she cannot make the same mistake again.
At that thought, she is broken out of her paralysis, and she begins to push through the crowd.
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⋆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
Caitlyn follows a few feet behind, her steps careful. The back of the arena is surprisingly maintained and tidy, with peach painted walls and dim lamps illuminating the hallways. Other fighters flood through the halls with varying levels of injury – obvious victims of the Wolf latest assault. It’s a struggle to keep up with Vi, who keeps her head low, despite the echoes of threats called out by a few of her past opponents with enough courage to taunt her outside of the ring.
Vi disappears into a room at the far end of the hallway, and Caitlyn quickens her steps to catch up. Her mind races in tandem with the bustling hallway. Perhaps Vi does not want to see her – but wouldn’t it be better to know that for sure? To hear the words from her lips, instead of spending another sleepless night thinking of endless possibilities?
She fists her hand and knocks – anything to give her a sense of closure.
One second passes, then another, then another – until Caitlyn almost turns away. Her knock had gone unheard, that’s what had happened. Vi is not interested in visitors, and especially not in the likes of Caitlyn…
Footsteps thump on the other side of the door, and Caitlyn’s mouth runs dry as they draw closer. The doorknob twists, and the door swings open.
The Wolf is gone – replaced by a broken and vulnerable Vi. She has thrown a studded leather jacket over her shoulders – that which barely conceals all the bruises and cuts she had sustained during the match. Sweat rivulets run down her chest, and she’s still breathing hard. But it is the gaze that Vi fixes Caitlyn with that makes a shiver run down her spine; despite the smudged black makeup, her eyes are sunken and glassy, as if she isn’t fully present or aware. She looks at Caitlyn as if she is a puff of smoke – here one second and gone the next.
It’s a look she is all too familiar with – ingrained in her memory and replaying for the past year.
No words are exchanged, and Caitlyn glances at the half empty beer bottle in her hand. Is she even sober? Wordlessly, Vi turns and disappears back into her room, leaving the door slightly ajar. She takes this as a sign to enter, tentatively shutting the door behind her.
Now, it’s just the two of them, and Caitlyn’s heart is beating so loudly she fears Vi can hear it.
This room, like the others spread across the backstage area, seems to be a place for competitors to rest and recover before and after their match. Vi’s room is cluttered and messy – empty bottles of alcohol scattered in every corner, and used bandages and medical supplies strewn all over the sink. Undoubtedly, the state of the room is just a sliver of an insight into the state of Vi’s mind.
While she was getting dressed, crossing the streets of Piltover, slinking across the city of Zaun, and watching Vi fight, she had been rehearsing what she wanted to say. A terse declaration – one where she apologized profusely and politely asked for Vi’s help, in order to have her back at her side. But her tongue remains heavy in her mouth, unwilling to speak the words.
She’s witnessing Vi’s complete and utter undoing – and if she’s not careful, the pit fighter might become completely unraveled in her hands, far beyond salvaging.
Vi sits on the sofa, her elbows bracing against her knees as she watches Caitlyn closely. Her eyes remain indecipherable and she makes no move to speak. Perhaps the cold shoulder is Caitlyn’s punishment – still, she is grateful for at least being let into the room, taking it as what may be Vi’s receptiveness.
She is still trying to think of what to say when Vi takes another swig from her bottle and finally opens her mouth to speak, cracking the heavy silence.
“You’re different this time.” Her voice is tired and defeated, but this is overlooked by Caitlyn’s confusion at her statement.
“Pardon?”
“You closed the door. I’ve never seen you do something like that before.”
“Vi,” the name tumbles out of her mouth haphazardly, foreign with disuse. But it seems to do the trick, from the way her eyes become more alive. “Are you okay?”
The question is stupid – the answer is scribbled in front of her for her to see, from Vi’s ruddy appearance to the state of the room – but there is nothing else Caitlyn can think to say.
Vi leans back on the sofa. “It depends. Are you real?”
Caitlyn steps closer to her, just a foot away. Vi is looking up at her with so much tenderness and hope that her eyes beg to water.
“Of course I’m real. I’m right here, Vi.”
Tentatively, she reaches out a hand, stroking her cheek lightly. Her face is littered with bruises, and Caitlyn does not want to aggravate them further. Vi shudders, leaning into her touch completely. Somehow, seeing her so helpless and broken is even more heartbreaking than being pushed away.
“Let me help you.”
─ ⊹ ⊱ ⋆ ⊰ ⊹ ─
Vi bites back a whine when ‘Caitlyn’s' hand slides from her cheek. It crosses her mind to reach out and pull the woman into her arms – but she does not dare. The hallucination she sees in front of her, gazing at her with an emotion that she does not want to decipher, is not actually Caitlyn. But she wants so badly to believe it.
Which is why she does not shy away when this made-believe 'Caitlyn' helps her up, slinging her across her shoulder and allowing her to rest her full weight onto her body, which is surprisingly strong and sturdy. Vi recalls 'Caitlyn's' activities for that night - how she had watched her fight from the audience, followed her to her room, and more alarmingly, how she had shut the door; her hallucinations had never interacted with physical objects before. But then again, it could just be a trick of her mind, in the same way she had imagined Caitlyn bandaging her wounds many times before, only to awaken to find her apartment empty with bandages in her own hands.
Vi leads them to the sink, where she pulls a stool from below it with her foot. She drops onto the stool, her exhaustion beginning to take a toll on her body.
Like clockwork, the blue-haired woman gets to work immediately – clearing the sink of bandages and washing her hands before assessing Vi’s wounds. She shrugs off her jacket, and watches as those familiar blue eyes scan her wounds, warm fingertips ghosting over her skin. Vi tips her head back against the wall, her eyes shut.
“Are you real?”
“Of course I’m real. I’m right here, Vi.”
‘Caitlyn’s’ words echo in her head – a sentiment she has heard many times before, either through the warm flash of a smile or the ghost of a touch on her shoulder. But it never actually turns out to be real – ‘Caitlyn’ always vanishes soon after, her promises as empty and fleeting as a gust of wind.
When the booze wasn't enough to knock her out, Vi pondered on the complexity of it all. This Caitlyn was a figment of her imagination, that much she had figured out, a hallucination that allowed her brain to cushion itself against her shitty situation. She could not see Caitlyn ever again – and she was sure Caitlyn did not ever want to see her – and so her mind had been compensating.
But then she started seeing others – Mylo, Claggor, Powder – and realized that her mind had lured her into a trap. Her brain had not been working to preserve itself; this was self-destruction. Not that she minds.
‘Caitlyn’ takes a wet rag and begins to work, focusing all her attention on the large bruise at her side. Occasionally Vi flinches, and she stops, waiting until she is given the green light once more to continue. This Caitlyn her mind has conjured is attentive and sensitive – so similar to the one she had once known.
The situation is oddly reminiscent of a moment they had shared long before – Vi finding herself on the brink of death, only to be nursed back to health by Caitlyn. It was not until later did Vi piece together that she had traded her rifle, her only source of protection, in exchange for medicine. She had meant to thank Caitlyn for it, for saving her even when she was nothing short of abrasive before, but the opportunity had long vanished. Now, the present moment is nothing more than a cheap imitation. The irony of it is enough to make Vi chuckle to herself.
“What is it?”
Vi opens her eyes to see ‘Caitlyn’s’ face a hair's breadth away from hers. Her eyes are still focused on bandaging the wound at her side, but her tone is open and playful – she wants to talk to her. Nothing has stopped Vi from speaking to her hallucinations in the past, but to have them respond is something new. Yet, she welcomes it; the imagined banter may return some sense of normalcy to her fucked up life.
“Just thinking about that time Sevika fucked me over.” And you saved me.
‘Caitlyn’ huffs, but Vi doesn’t miss the smile that ghosts over her lips. “Seems like that’s all you’ve been getting up to this past year, haven’t you?”
Vi can say nothing to that. Being alone all those years in Stillwater – her mind was on thin ice, the only thing keeping it from completely shattering was the thought of getting back to Powder. Now, with her sister – or Jinx, rather – forging her own path, and Caitlyn no longer having anything to do with her, she can feel the ice slowly melting. Soon enough, it will cave in on itself. What comes next, Vi can only wonder.
‘Caitlyn’ is right. She hasn’t changed at all; only allowed the darkest parts of herself to come to light.
Vi watches the hallucination as she steps away from the bandaged wound, admiring her work. A strand of ‘Caitlyn’s’ hair has fallen into her face, and Vi unconsciously reaches out to brush it away, previous caution be damned. Her skin feels smooth, but Vi does not miss the sharp cut of her cheekbones, much more pronounced than she had remembered. This hallucination does not quiver or vanish – she stands completely and utterly still, blue eyes trained on Vi. If she looks closely, she can even imagine a dusting of pink on her cheeks.
“Of course I’m real. I’m right here, Vi.”
For the first time that night, her reality begins to quiver. Vi had been hesitant to believe – too afraid of what might happen if she trusted – but this Caitlyn feels far more vivid than any of her other hallucinations. She sits up straighter as she watches the woman rummage through the first aid kit.
The next few minutes pass in silence while ‘Caitlyn’ works on the bruise on her chest. This one – obtained through a severe kick to her sternum – is worse than the last, and it sends a sharp pain through her chest every time she breathes. Vi distracts herself by looking at ‘Caitlyn’ and memorizing her features. Her touch is gentle, and if she notices Vi’s staring, she ignores it.
Wanting to fill the silence, Vi speaks. “And what about you?”
‘Caitlyn’ looks up at her briefly. “What about me?”
“How have you been…holding up, after everything?” After her mother’s death, the botched mission, her betrayal.
“Things are going smoothly – for now. The Council building is almost finished rebuilding, and I think we might’ve gotten a new lead on–”
“That’s not what I meant. How are you feeling? ”
‘Caitlyn’s’ gaze ventures from hers, landing somewhere on the wall behind her. “Fine, I suppose. And you…I can tell things haven’t been well.” Avoiding the damn topic. It’s obviously something she’d rather not touch on, but Vi wants to know. Partly to avoid answering for her own misdemeanors.
Vi simply shrugs in response, her eyes wandering to the bottle in her hand. Her cheeks are sticky and crusted over, an effect of the shitty face paint she had caked on earlier in the evening. The heat of shame suddenly crawls up her neck – ‘Caitlyn’, albeit a hallucination, should not see her like this.
If Vi’s thoughts are visible on her face, ‘Caitlyn’ has the courtesy to ignore them. She turns to the sink, passing another clean rag under the water and wringing it out. Without warning, she steps impossibly closer, pressing the wet rag to Vi's face, and her breath hitches in her throat. She is hit with the pleasant aroma of vanilla and almond blossom and…cupcakes. Fuck, I really am going insane.
“I see you have a new name now.” ‘Caitlyn’ says.
The Wolf – a name she had not chosen, but was given. Back when she had just started out in the ring, the only thing she had to herself was the clothes on her back – a black leather jacket emblazoned with a double wolf patch behind it. She was a Nameless, a fighter not yet with a stage name, until the nickname had eventually grown on her.
“You like it?” Because somehow, it mattered to Vi.
“It suits you,” ‘Caitlyn’ responds, and Vi is satisfied. “But I can see you’re trying to disguise yourself. Why?”
This is certainly a unique conversation to have, with a hallucination no less. “Well the people down here haven’t exactly welcomed me with open arms, so I’ve had to make a few changes.”
‘Caitlyn’ hums under her breath, but does not bother pushing the subject. Ever since she became an enforcer, she has lost respect from the people of Zaun – lost the place she once called home. And Piltover, with its high towers and stony roads, remains as cold as ever. She has no place in topside, or bottom. An idiot's dilemma.
‘Caitlyn’ continues to wipe the paint from her face, but Vi can practically see the cogs in her head spinning, trying to make sense of what she had said. She pulls away, her eyes focused on cleaning the ruined rag as best as she can under the sink, and Vi finds herself scooting to the edge of her stool, eager to hear what she has to say.
Finally, she looks at Vi, her eyes pooling with remorse. “I’m so sorry. About everything that happened. I shouldn’t have reacted the way that I did.”
Vi remains quiet, everything she wants to say stuck under the lump in her throat. She had wanted to protect everyone, but in doing so, she had lost everything – including herself. It just wasn’t possible to save everyone, and she was learning that.
But still…
The world around her suddenly starts to shift in a familiar awful way – the weight of her head becoming non-existent and threatening to float from between her shoulders. She takes another swig at her bottle, shutting her eyes tightly. When is this shit gonna kick in?
Dimly, she hears ‘Caitlyn’s’ voice in the back of her head: “Vi? What’s going on?” She feels the beer bottle being wrenched out of her hands, but her tongue is so heavy in her mouth that she cannot protest.
She opens her eyes a sliver, the dim lamplight suddenly blinding her. Behind ‘Caitlyn’ though, she can make out the shape of another ‘Caitlyn’ – this one is standing by the doorframe, shrouded in darkness. Vi blinks, and suddenly she is much closer, a deep, frightening frown elongating her features to an impossible extent.
Somewhere in the back of her head is an echo of laughter – Jinx – and this darker ‘Caitlyn’ leans down, screaming into her face. Her scream is soundless, but Vi can hear it deep within her soul, like the buzz of a bomb.
“No! Stop, please…” She can hardly make out the sound of her own voice, and fingers encircling her hands as they flail about. Vi wrenches her hand away, and opens her eyes just enough so that she can locate her bottle of beer, flailing hands knocking the medical supplies from the sink. Where the fuck did I put it?
“Hey, talk to me.” There’s a warm hand on her shoulder, one that she promptly shrugs off. The air is suddenly too thick and cloying, and she shuts her eyes tightly, trying to suck enough air into her lungs.
“You’re not real.”
A soft but firm voice replies: “I am, Vi. It’s me, Caitlyn–”
“No you’re not! She doesn’t want to see me and I can’t trust anything,” she inhales a ragged breath. “My mind is so fucked up.”
There’s the sound of nothing for an agonizing minute – so silent that Vi almost believes her hallucination has vanished. But she is too afraid to open her eyes to confirm, for fear that she had been right all along, that she had imagined it all.
Then, warmth envelopes her, steady and unwavering, and sweet familiar perfume tickles her nose. A hand comes to rest behind Vi's head, the other against her shoulders.
Vi has only dreamt of this for the past year, and now that it is actually happening she finds herself paralyzed, unable to react. The hand at the back of her head moves to rest against her face, swiping at the tears that streamed down her cheeks, tears she hadn't realized had fallen.
No monster's gonna get you when I'm here …that's what she had said to her sister, all those years ago.
But who would chase away her monsters?
The answer comes quietly, in a whisper that is sung into her hair: “What can I do to prove that I’m real?”
Vi wraps her arms around Caitlyn’s waist, pulling her closer and burying her face into her chest. “Stay. Just stay with me.”