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For a fifteen year old teenager, Vi sees a lot of unusual shit on a day to day basis.
She has bore witness to the aftermath of a rowdy night at The Last Drop; drunk, blubbering adults on the side covered in a pigsty after one too many drinks, Deckard’s group of friends casually stealing age inappropriate magazines rather than practical livelihood essentials, as well as her little sister beating around the bush with little man, and acting as if they were caught redhanded whenever she even dared to point it out.
Needless to say, Vi has seen it all.
But being fifteen—she probably needed to redefine “everything” as a word; having apparently overestimated what it covered by a large margin— especially after seeing Caitlyn Kiramman bolt out of a cafeteria like it was about two seconds from erupting into flames.
One moment, Caitlyn Kiramman— the girl who wore her uniform with crispy clean lines, sat with ruler straight posture, had the silkiest head of midnight blue hair, and the bluest eyes imaginable— was casually chatting with her two only friends, and in the next moment— she was stopping everything to scamper out of there with a pale face, her tail tucked between her legs, and a string of laughter from a group of girls following in her wake.
What she just saw had to be the prime example of Pilties being the strangest crowd of people in this school— and that meant something, considering that Deckard and his group was just around the corner.
“You have a staring problem.” Powder commented from the side, noticing her sister’s wandering eyes.
Vi’s first instinct is to go on the defense; lie, even if her sister already sensed it from a mile away. “Sure do not. It’s not my fault that Pilties laugh like their breaths don’t stink.”
Out of sheer pettiness, Vi made sure to raise the volume of her voice, let the remark recoil off the walls; which hopefully held a mirror up to the offending group of girls, and forced them to see some semblance of insecurity.
Effective immediately, the shameless group of girls went quiet to begin breath checking each other; whispering to one another questions about the smell of their breath self-consciously, and when the girls began to grow more restless and antsy about the topic of their smell, Vi couldn’t stop herself from basking in the satisfaction filling her to the brim— nor, could she stop that shit eating grin from blooming across her face.
Looking at this, Powder only had to offer her a look of disbelief.
“So… are you going to go after her, or what?”
Then, the moment broke at once, and Vi immediately went back to channelling an air of indifference. “Go after her?” Vi scoffed. What did she look like, a puppy running after its owner? “Why the hell would I do that?”
For the second time, Powder shot back a look of disbelief. She couldn’t believe that Vi was trying to lie now of all times— “I think you should. Maybe it’ll solve your staring problem, I dunno.” She reasoned, picking at the mush that was her school provided lunch. “And maybe you’ll get a girlfriend out of it.”
“G–girlfriend?” Vi sputtered, incredulous. “Pow, don’t say that. I don’t need one— especially a Piltie.”
“Say what?” Powder wondered out loud, feeling especially mischievous that day. “Girlfriend?—”
Snatching her drink, and uncaring of the way her chair loudly screeched against the floors, Vi got up and stormed away from the conversation —allowing her legs to aimlessly take her to wherever destination it deemed necessary.
There are certain parts in Caitlyn’s life that she doesn’t like to attribute to just simply being a Kiramman.
For example, she always found it rather odd, whenever people told her that she got her sharp shooting skills from her parents. The suggestion itself was rather logically inept, since her father retired his marksmanship hobby some years ago, and her mother’s busy schedule only allowed her to reach for the rifle in emergencies, and the rare special occasion. Her marksmanship may have been uplifted by her parents’ support, but it was absolutely insulting to credit her status as a sharpshooter to them entirely.
Similarly to how insulting it was to say that her ability to construct decent arguments during debates were all thanks to her “Kiramman genes” or whatever that was supposed to mean. After all, what did genetics have to do with her ability to highlight the flaws in an argument? That was her own doing, not whatever her family name gave to her!
As annoyingly absurd as it was, she was always forced to bite her tongue; nod and brush it off, as ignorant family friends and old councilors proudly intercepted the wrong idea of her. After all, that’s what a Kiramman was apparently supposed to do— among other things, such as being sharp shooters, eloquent debaters, and excellent planners who were able to put up a strong front, especially when confronted with the ugly face of frustration, pressure, and shame.
And speaking of being an excellent planner—
“Oh, bollocks!”
Caitlyn had missed the mark. Just by barely.
Despite what many people might say about her, Caitlyn knows what it feels like when she’s made a mistake out of sheer miscalculation, error and ignorance.
Instead of feeling well rested and prepared for the barrage of exams she’d be having that same morning, her day had decided to begin on a strange note; by making her sleep through not one, or two— but three of her usual morning alarms. A couple frantic moments later, she was walking into school with a strange feeling in her gut; like there was an itch somewhere around her body needing to be scratched, and she was forgetting something entirely important.
The final kicker had to be when she answered the last question to her gruesome exam that day with precision, with indisputable confidence that promised her outstanding marks— but felt empty, except for the disgruntled annoyance towards her performance, ignorant to the fact that she had spent hours of the week before to relentless review.
The clock had only begun to read eleven in the morning, when Caitlyn had realized that she had completed all four of her exams. It was an achievement in itself, but the sudden awareness towards the back to back exam marathon made Caitlyn want to do nothing— but go home. She didn’t care that the estate staff would’ve alerted her parents of her early return, and she especially didn’t care about her passion for learning whatsoever; which happened to be the same dedication that usually made her operate on autopilot mode, just for the sake of getting tasks done.
The worst part of everything was the out of character tells her body was waving at her. Uncharacteristically as ever— the lines, shapes, and sounds of the setting began to mix into one overstimulating blur. Then, somewhere along the way, sitting in the cafeteria, and third wheeling Mel and Jayce for the heck of it— Caitlyn found herself full to the brim with frustration just waiting to spill over, and hot irritation cramping at her gut—
…Cramping?
Wait.
She didn’t wait to think of some flimsy excuse to shovel at Mel and Jayce, before she was was peeling herself off the plastic material of her chair, and bolting for the nearest restroom like her life depended on it— uncaring of the fact that her immediate arrival there wouldn’t do anything to reverse the clock, and fix the error of her late realization.
Eventually, Caitlyn found a bathroom isolated from the majority of the student body’s periphery, locked herself in with one swift movement, and immediately began to investigate with a lingering spark of hope that solely relied on everything being a false alarm.
“Shit.” She swore— actually swore, this time, instead of just saying it inside of her head, and hoping that nobody heard the volume of her profanity. The efforts of her investigation revealed a crime scene in its wake; liquid crimson smearing itself between her legs, the inside of her safety shorts, and the fingertips that breached direct contact to check for more affected areas.
Ignoring the sudden urge to wash her hands and the heat in her veins rise up, Caitlyn turned her waist to angle the backside of her skirt towards the mirror; just to inspect the damage, because there was no chance that all of that didn’t miss the fabric—
“Fuck.” Her complexion paled at her findings; the sight of her inconvenience for the next couple of minutes or hours— the indiscreet red splotch flat and center on her skirt that was loudly staring back at her, mocking her of its permanency until the next wash cycle.
Oh, she definitely wanted to go home now.
Now dancing on the finest line between her fight and flight defenses, Caitlyn’s mind began to work overtime for solutions.
Rinsing out the stain with soap and water would be a waste of time and materials, the usual hydrogen peroxide solution was unavailable, as she had hastily left her emergency kit in the safety of her abandoned backpack most likely in Jayce or Mel’s possession, and calling her parents about her situation was absolutely not an option—seeing as they’d do anything for her; deliver a package of new skirts and pants for Caitlyn to wear, and maybe even pull her out of school let her change in the comfort of their home instead of whatever school bathroom— which would further the privileged and sheltered stereotype that people were already convinced was true.
Then, there was another solution: a change of underwear, slapping on some sanitary pad, and then figuring out the rest later. That would be… plausible, since her bag had to have something for her in there, right? Though, gaining access to her bag would be akin to a miracle happening in front of her eyes, at this point, seeing as it is nearly impossible without the assistance of her phone. This now left her with one other solution: poking her head out of the bathroom, and flagging down some kind soul’s attention— even though she knew that this bathroom in particular was situated far away from most densely populated areas of the school, so she’d be here for minutes or hours—
Caitlyn froze like a deer caught in headlights, as the doorknob to the bathroom began to jitter with life and insistence. Mortified, the door only took a few twists and shoves for it to show signs of it coming open despite the lock, and with panic spiking up in every fiber of her body, all Caitlyn could do with the very limited space inside of the bathroom— was back up against one of the walls, and watch with even more horror, as the door flew wide open with a bang to reveal a vision of roguish pink.
Standing by the doorway was the most handsome, most beautiful face that a girl her age could have— donning a hairstyle that was a mix of soft and edgy touches; pink hair shaven on one side, and the other side full, fluffy, and slicked back and away from her silvery eyes— which were now staring at her, oh wow, she needs to remember how to breathe—
Caitlyn’s eyes widened once more with recognition. This beautifully handsome girl was someone Caitlyn saw regularly around school, not because she was anything similar to the sophisticated bunch of girls her mother wanted her to get along with— but the completely polar opposite, really.
She remembers seeing the pink haired girl in different hallways, around the bleachers; sometimes loitering around empty classrooms with a group consisting of three other kids— but usually getting reprimanded by the teachers, either for uniform violation, behavioral misdemeanors, or other newly made up reasons. If this was her first time seeing her— then, she’s sure that she would’ve melted from a multitude of reasons; like the rough charm to her beautiful looks, and the fact provided no blanket of comfort to soothe Caitlyn’s curiosity, nor her worry centered around the unreadable look printed on the girl’s face.
If the stranger could’ve screamed any trouble— whether it’d be because of the apprehensive way her eyes darted around their surroundings, the rebellion that was wearing pants two sizes too big instead of the standard skirt, the collection of scars dashed across her features, or even how tightly she clutched her vibrant red drink in her hand that Caitlyn just now noticed— then, she must’ve been screaming it this entire time, especially as she took a step in, closed the door behind her, and finally scanned all of Caitlyn with silver daggers for eyes.
Caitlyn had to look away. Without a doubt, even though she had no previous prejudices towards people from the undercity, especially a girl who looked like anything like the one in front of her, if looks could kill— Caitlyn was positive that she’d be dead and buried six feet under if she even breathed near the girl in any unacceptable way—
“You good?”
Huh.
When Caitlyn gathered the courage to snap her eyes back onto the girl, she couldn’t help but notice how the rasp in her voice was lilt with an unusual softness, and that her entire demeanor had made a complete shift to reflect it. Eyes rounded, and brows furrowed with confusion, the girl took a small step closer, and freed her hands of its holdings—concern evident in her behavior, as she examined Caitlyn more upfront and cautiously; unabashed of their sudden close proximity.
When Caitlyn took too long to answer, the girl huffed impatiently. “I asked if you were okay, princess.”
Caitlyn short circuited.
Huh?
Wait… Princess? Is she talking to her?
The girl huffed out a laugh. “Yes, I’m talking to you. Y’see anyone else around here?”
After promptly short circuiting, Caitlyn finally began to choke out an answer. “I thought I locked the door.” She said; unaccusing, just a little surprised that the girl managed to get in—what more, find her.
But the girl doesn’t quite catch it. “Right, and I just picked the locks like some sumprat ass.” She scoffs, but doesn’t back away from Caitlyn like she’s about to bolt out of there, and leave Caitlyn stranded once again. Instead, she folds her arms, and pins Caitlyn with a hard look; a wall, armor of some sort.
Caitlyn frowns, “I wasn’t implying that— I’m sorry.” She apologized, and meant it—not just because she was trying to keep her there. She didn’t know who the girl was, but she felt like she needed to hear those words—especially from someone who came from the other side of the river. Caitlyn didn’t know how to explain it just yet, but it’s the least she could do for unintentionally implying that the girl barged into the bathroom with ill intentions. After all, this was still a bathroom belonging to the school, and even if the girl did break in—then it wouldn’t be exactly wrong of her, seeing as the bathroom wasn’t a single cubicle by any means.
“I was just surprised.” Caitlyn explained, almost sighing with relief as she watched the tension dissipate from the girl’s face. “I don’t think you broke in, I just—”
Clicking her teeth in a tsk, the girl shakes her head; apparently wanting none of the remainder of Caitlyn’s explanation. “Nevermind that shit.” She brushed off, almost like she wasn’t offended to begin with. “What’s goin’ on with you?”
“I—well—”
Caitlyn, it is improper to fumble with your words. She could hear her mother scold, as she tried to fix her words towards a decent explanation. For all the things needing to be explained thoroughly—it’s here, where Caitlyn faces an unusual blockage of difficulty. She’s not one to be embarrassed of normal bodily functions, especially to another girl who doesn’t seem to be in a wanting position to judge, but she struggles anyway to find a better way to explain her little (or not so little, seeing how obvious the stain is) accident; her mishappening that resulted from improper planning.
So, she decides to just show it, instead of telling it, and promptly makes a slow turn around to show the other girl the bloody crime scene.
“Yikes.” The girl winced, fully understanding Caitlyn’s situation. Her reaction wasn’t a “woah” or “oh” but “yikes”—and that had to be the worst part of all of this. She could handle being on her period, or staining her skirt—she just couldn’t handle this girl’s reaction to his mishap, specifically. If Caitlyn had the strength, she’d choose a random stall to hole up in, run towards it in full speed, regardless of what the girl had to say about that, and rot in it until the day ended—or she ended—
“Should I… ask what it looks like?” Caitlyn asked, even though she already knew what the answer was, since frankly— there was a reason why she used the term “crime scene” instead of just calling it a regular spill or stain.
“It looks like you sat on a paint bucket, and it ran down hell on the back of your legs.” The girl commented; brutally unfiltered, and continuing to stare at her legs.
“Wait. It ran down the back of my legs?” Caitlyn squeaked out, whipping her head around to see if it is as bad as the girl mentioned it to be, and if so— she might as well just die right now—
“I’m teasing you.” Caitlyn deadpanned; she should’ve seen that coming, honestly. “But it’s still not lookin’ too good.” The girl winced, turning Caitlyn fully around to face her once more. That hardened look of defense was put away, and replaced with something softer; more understanding and tender. “Do you have anything on you right now? Or in your mousekatool bag?”
“‘Mousekatool’ bag?” Caitlyn questioned out loud with one quirked eyebrow.
The girl rolled her eyes, but it didn’t look like something born out of unadulterated annoyance or disdain. “Someone like you has got to have one of everything inside of your bag.” She teased once more. “Right, princess?”
Princess, Princess, Princess. Was Caitlyn dreaming right now? Despite her teasing, she’s being awfully tender about this—even though she didn’t know a thing or two about Caitlyn, except for the fact that she had made a red mess on the back of her skirt.
Putting her observations of the girl aside, Caitlyn shakes her head. “My skirt’s pocket doesn’t really… have the largest capacity.” Which is true, unfortunately. The school’s fashion designer must’ve hated the girls holding anything bigger than a handkerchief in them, Caitlyn thought, bitterly. “It’s really just my handkerchief in here, and if I use it—well… I don’t think I’d be able to look at it the same, again.”
Caitlyn tries not to fluster at the downright musical sound of Vi’s shocked laugh; which had followed, once Vi caught onto the implications of Caitlyn using her poor handkerchief in this instance.
So, she channels her nervousness into another sigh. The peak of her nervousness might’ve long left her the moment the girl revealed to be on her side—but it didn’t change the fact that this was all incredibly nerve wracking, anxiety inducing. “Most of what I need is in my bag. It’s with Mel or Jayce—they’re my friends, but I don’t know how long I’ve been here, so they might’ve long left by now.” She figured, with some hesitation.
After quickly listening, the girl hummed, and began to pat the pockets of her baggy pants for anything. Her front pockets jingled as the girl went through them, and after she found nothing useful— she quickly moved onto her backside pockets. Caitlyn watched with a baited breath as she rifled through her second and last back pocket, and found herself immediately relaxing the moment the other girl fished out a spare pad with a small noise of victory.
Relief immediately flooded Caitlyn’s senses, but she found it to be rather short-lived, as she gave the other girl a questioning look. She didn’t know what the girl having a pad on her meant—it either meant that she was on her cycle herself, or that someone close to her was on theirs. Either way, although Caitlyn wanted to be self-serving and take the item herself—she didn’t want to impose, nor did she want to act entitled to this girl’s precious resources.
“Take it.” The girl offered, reaching for Caitlyn’s hand, and pressing the spare pad against the surface of her palm. Her fingertips are a bit calloused, but Caitlyn hardly minds—maybe she liked it, and that was enough of a sign to stop herself from pressing her fingers into the lightness behind the girl’s touch. “I’m not on it, if that’s what you’re worried about— my younger sister is. She… started recently. Sort of young, I know—but now, I just carry a large stock of ‘em around just in case.” She simply explained, using her free hand to scratch at the back of her head. “And I wouldn’t be offering if I was running low, okay? So— just take it. ”
Caitlyn nodded, and opened her mouth to express her deepest gratitude, until she realized one thing— “I can’t put this on.”
“Oh right, because—”
“Yes,” Caitlyn answered, already knowing where the girl was going with that. She didn’t mean to be rude by cutting her off, but her body was already precipitating signs of menstrual cramps, and the last thing Caitlyn wanted—was to be stuck with the odd sensation of her pad against soiled fabric for the rest of her day.
Luckily, the girl doesn’t seem offended. “Okay, got it. Hm…” The girl thought carefully, shifting her weight onto her other leg. “Your friends Mel and Jayce… are they the Medarda girl and the… Man of Progress or whatever?”
“Yes.” Caitlyn nodded, almost laughing herself when the girl looked absolutely shocked about the fact. She doesn’t blame her—sometimes she’s shocked about it, too. “That would be them.”
“Alright. I’m gonna look for them—” The girl decided, taking several glances over her shoulder while she walked towards the bathroom door, as if Caitlyn could just vanish into thin air if she ever so pleased. “To see if they have your bag, ‘n all.”
“I’ll be back and make it swift—I should probably be the only one who’ll be trying to get in, but if anyone else tries, then—uh—” The girl paused to think of what Caitlyn could do in the case of some random trying to barge in. “Threaten to sue them, I guess.”
“Or I could just hide in one of the stalls.” Caitlyn offered wryly. After all, this was still a public bathroom—and if this girl was allowed to come in as she pleased, then any other girl wanting to use the bathroom was just as welcomed.
“I still think suing is a more effective method for someone like you—but you do you. ” The girl suggested lightly, before opening the door and disappearing from the bathroom in search of her bag.
Once the girl had left her alone, Caitlyn ran to lock the door once more—and this time, barricaded it with a spare mop laying in the corner. It was… quite ridiculous and hypocritical of her to do, but she really didn’t want to risk anyone else coming in and seeing her in such a state—even if she immediately ran towards one of the stalls, and kept herself inside. Now, there was no chance of anyone catching her at a bad time, and she’d prefer to keep the things that way until the girl arrived— if she even returned at all—
The door banged; once, then twice, before it shot right back open like the first time. It seemed like the mop barricade did little in preventing people from entering, and before Caitlyn could lament about the defective locks of the bathroom door—she was able to hear the familiar scratching of someone’s sneakers against the bathroom’s tilings.
A fist softly rapped against the surface of each cubicle, and once the girl had bypassed her stall by accident—Caitlyn called for the girl’s attention towards the stall she was actually inside of. In a few fast seconds, Caitlyn spotted the girl’s sneakers in front of her stall—allowing Caitlyn to open it tentatively to check if it was actually the same girl.
Thankfully, it was. “I found your bag.” The girl said, holding out her beloved backpack with one hand. Caitlyn couldn’t help but find the action rather impressive—especially since her bag has been said to have weighed a ton of bricks, even by Jayce, who was her strongest of friends.
“I almost had to fight tooth and nail with your friends to get it back.” The girl recalled, as Caitlyn snatched the bag from her, closed the stall, and immediately began to tear her fingers into the pad. “Damn,” The other girl continued, while Caitlyn began to help herself. “It didn’t really help that I didn’t know your name either. Should’ve thought of that.”
Caitlyn’s fingers paused their administrations around the sanitary pad’s wrappings. “You don’t know who I am?” She asked, not out of offense that the girl didn’t know what background she came from—but genuine wonder. It was rare for someone at their school to not know which family she came from—much more rarer than not knowing who she was, either. Not to brag, or say that she was… popular, by any means, just well-known for reasons that had to do with everything but her—her parents’ high visibility.
The girl hummed, waiting patiently as Caitlyn resumed her changing. “Nope.” She answered, popping the ‘p’ of the last syllable. “And I guess you don’t know me, so we’re even.”
“My name is Caitlyn.” She introduced, once she had finally changed out of her stained undergarments, and put on the pad. The effect of her efforts was immediate; she felt better already—though, there was still more to be fixed, but that was most likely Caitlyn from the future’s problem, not her.
“Name’s Vi.” The girl—Vi— exchanged back, less formal, more relaxed than Caitlyn’s own introduction. Though, Caitlyn could hardly care about their difference, when she now had a name to connect to her face. The name was short, but beautiful, and most likely stood for something longer and equally beautiful—but Caitlyn didn’t want to try her chances at angering the unfamiliar girl with her prodding.
Besides, Caitlyn still had to amend her statement—Vi wasn’t entirely unfamiliar. “Well, I’ve seen you before, Vi.”
She opened the door, and came face to face with Vi— who was waiting for Caitlyn with her hands shoved in her pockets. She seemed surprised at Caitlyn’s comment; and was unable to hide it, as she dove in to confirm— “You have?”
Caitlyn nodded. “It’s hard to miss.”
The sound that came from Vi was a cross between a scoff and an airy laugh. “As are you— wait, are you still wearing your old skirt?”
Caitlyn flinched; that was the thing she was still worried about. The color of her skirt’s not exactly light, per say, but it wasn’t the right level of darkness to properly mask the stain, either. Anyone standing behind her could see the outline of the stain—and Caitlyn would honestly do anything to get out of the skirt, in exchange for something new—a new skirt, some pants. She’ll take anything, even if the skirt isn’t a style she’d reach for, or if the pants she wore were a size too short above her ankles or whatnot.
Caitlyn found it in herself to nod back. “I… don’t have a change of skirt, or pants.” She ruefully commented. She tries to think back on why she doesn’t—and truthfully? It could be for a number of factors; backpack capacity, the fact that she was experiencing a growth spurt right now, and was beginning to slowly, but surely, spike up to higher heights that she hasn’t seen before. Hell, she even remembered being a couple inches shorter than Vi, at some point—but now, they were almost the same height. Even if she had packed spare pants, she was confident that it wouldn’t just be a size too tight, but even multiple—and there was nothing worse than having to deal with your cycle while wearing an uncomfortable pair of pants.
But instead of explaining that, she says this— “I don’t know why I’m so unprepared.” Caitlyn said. She really didn’t know why—she usually had a back-up plan, and a back-up plan to that back-up plan, and many others to follow in a scenario like this— so this happening was completely unheard of; something she imagines being chastised for back at home. “I’m sorry.”
She expects something; a snort, a tease, something to indicate that Vi found this a little too funny for comfort.
Instead, none of that happens—just something completely outlandish, and unheard of.
“Don’t apologize for shit." Vi insisted, her language vulgar and unfiltered. "Wanna switch?”
A beat of silence passes, nearly as if the question had never been proposed. “What?”
“You heard me.” Caitlyn’s ears caught it, and she still couldn’t believe it herself. “We could switch. Skirt to pants, pants to skirt.”
Caitlyn buffered, “Are you out of your mind, Vi?” To make a point, she looked up and down at Vi—unable to ignore the fact that Vi would be blatantly uncomfortable; unsettled and deeply disturbed, even, by wearing not just a skirt—but a skirt from a girl she barely knew. “You’re—you’re really asking to switch? Now? Are you sure you’re alright with that?” She had to ask, in case Vi was holding herself at gunpoint, or something.
Vi nodded, weaving her fingers through her full side of hair. “Yeah, I am. Didn’t fuckin’ hesitate.” She let her hands dangle down to graze at the fabric of her pants. “Let’s switch.”
“Vi—isn’t that your definition of social suicide?”
Vi only had a shrug to offer at that. She didn't seem to be in a fighting mood to deny it, though. “Nobody will stare my way if I show them these.” She grinned—or at least tried to, as her lips curled into a snarl while she held up both of her bandaged, fight ready fists. “Plus, a skirt doesn’t threaten me. I know what I am.”
It’s Vi’s confidence—Vi’s sureness that she is nearly jealous of. She doesn’t know a lot about Vi—but those words tell enough about the kind of person she is; that she could parade in anything, and still stand firm; come back to what was core to her. She wasn’t easily swayed, nor threatened at the idea of doing anything unusual to her—as long as it was absolutely needed. She was a force to be reckoned with, and anything that she came to do—usually came at her necessary decision.
Plus, Vi had already decided on a choice—so there was no use in budging her.
“...Alright.” Caitlyn relented, not entirely enthused about what Vi’s about to experience—but is glad to be finally getting out of her ruined skirt, regardless, and as Vi gets into the stall next to her to change out of her pants, and hang her pants over the divider between the two stalls—Caitlyn figures that she’ll wrack up a solution for Vi’s inherited dilemma, later.
Caitlyn finishes changing, and steps out of the stall to check the fitting of Vi’s pants. It was a size too big on her, but the fit of Vi’s pants on Caitlyn’s legs and hips isn’t exactly hated— and she’s willing to put aside the bagginess, and the unnecessary drag of the pants’ material along the floors.
Caitlyn quietly huffs to herself; unable to understand how someone’s perfectly content with their pants coming in contact with the dirty floors, and is in the process of bending down to fold them up a few centimeters—when Vi emerges from the cubicle.
Vi walked like she wasn’t wearing a skirt; taking large steps at a time, as she approached the mirror to check the fitting. The image of her wearing a skirt, although unusual, wasn’t… a complete eyesore, but that’s something Caitlyn decides to take to the grave with her, as Vi turns to her with a rigid look on her face; discomfort strongly permeating through her front.
“You look—”
“Unusual? Odd? Ridiculous? So wrong because this isn’t me?” Vi guessed; all of her answers seemed to be some variation of odd, and weird.
Caitlyn shook her head. “None of that.” Pretty— still handsome. Caitlyn wanted to, but still hesitated to express. She mentally sighs— she wouldn’t put it behind Vi to act as if this exchange hadn’t happened; she knows about the tensions between Piltovan and Zaunite students. So, she might as well just say what she’s been thinking this entire time—
“Handsome and pretty nonetheless.”
Vi colors with a vivid shade of pink that was powerful enough to confuse where and when the lines between her hair and skin started— but Caitlyn’s unable to relish in this; simply moving onto the next topic out of sheer panic.
“Though, I’ve been trying to figure out what you’ve been planning to do with that—” She pointed at the blotch around the backside of her—now Vi’s— skirt, curious and confused about Vi’s next course of action.
Solving the first part of the problem in Vi’s eyes meant killing off the pink on her cheeks, and twisting the waistline of the skirt to allow the backside to be the frontside. Caitlyn pointedly looked away as Vi did so without warning; the action seemed a little too intimate for her eyes to be seeing, for reasons she couldn’t pinpoint, and it took everything in Caitlyn to not scream out all the air in her lungs as Vi moved her skirt to her liking.
“There. Now I can at least see how bad it looks.” Vi said, uncaring of how a red blob staining the front of her skirt looked like. Caitlyn didn’t know what looked worse—her backside being stained, or her frontside. But, either way—both didn’t seem preferable to begin with, considering the size of that thing, and the stain on Vi’s front made her look rather… suspicious.
If Vi had gone out like this, then she was sure that she’d get stopped by a few of the teachers—or security, even, because they were quick to assume that a kid ( keyword: kid ) like her was capable of performing something heinous on another fellow student, or even herself; something worth sanction and punishment, in their eyes certainly.
And Vi seemed to have been thinking the same thing, as she walked towards her cup of vibrant red juice—raspberry, Caitlyn realizes just now— and dangles the cup just above her lap; now seconds away from letting gravity do its thing.
Caitlyn, however, didn’t seem to get the memo. Not quite just yet. It was like she couldn’t bear the idea of someone willingly dousing their legs with a cold drink at roughly eleven in the morning. “W–what are you doing?” She stammered, eyes pinging back and forth between Vi’s expression, the cup of fluid in her hands, and her uniform skirt that Vi was wearing.
“Masking the stain.” She said, revealing everything and nothing at the same time. Then, without a single hint of fanfare, she let the cup fall from her hands, and violently splashed the contents all over the front of her skirt, with some of the liquid catching onto the front of her shirt.
After the ordeal had happened, all they could find themselves to do was stare at each other.
“Vi!” Caitlyn exclaimed, appalled and whiplashed that Vi would actually do such a thing— “You could’ve at least removed your darn shoes!” She exclaimed, gesturing down to her sneakers now drowning in a pool of raspberry juice.
Realizing that she was now soaked in red nearly from the stomach downwards, Vi looks up to shoot a sheepish grin at her—like the prospect of dousing a skirt with raspberry juice excited her a little too much.
“Oops. Sorry.” She apologized—though, something told Caitlyn that she honestly wasn’t.
Her teeth clamored shut, as her body shook off a chilled tremor; her body temperature most likely fluctuating because of the sudden new development of cold juice covering her legs. “At least I can say that it’s raspberry juice.” Vi shivered. It kind of reminded Caitlyn of a wet puppy. Absolutely adorable, but she would also like to take that to the grave. “And you can tell that to your parents, too, or whoever washes your laundry.”
At that, Caitlyn had to pause. Well, there was a little bit of a discrepancy there. “Although the raspberry juice masks the stain right now—blood and raspberry juice have a totally different consistency, and my mother will surely be asked on why the raspberry juice is harder to remove—”
“Yeesh. Got it, princess.” Vi relented, though didn’t seem too disbelieving at an explanation like that. “I guess that’s a problem for you to solve later, right?”
Kindness aside, she should be annoyed, really. This girl— a known troublemaker — busts down the bathroom door, nearly makes her forget about her kind acts of service by driving her up the wall with the princess nickname, busts down the door once more, has to convince her to switch bottoms with her, and then basically causes another stain, another problem for whoever does the Kiramman laundry.
But rather than being annoyed, she’s rather… taken— amused, by the girl’s methods, regardless of how unusual they may be. Besides, what was there to be annoyed about? Vi was actively helping her out with her issue, and she has been wanting to do her own laundry for some time—so, she supposes that she has Vi to thank for another real reason.
“Right.” Caitlyn returned back to the conversation with a composed nod. “Look—in my left skirt pocket is my handkerchief. It should be… relatively dry, so do use it on yourself when you get the chance.”
Vi patted at the skirt’s pockets for the handkerchief, and looked quite surprised with herself, when she found the square piece of linen to be dry as a desert.
“Huh.” She said, touching the fabric of her handkerchief with two fingers—as if she was scared of ruining the handkerchief’s quality. “Glad you didn’t use the handkerchief on yourself now, huh?” Vi commented, using the handkerchief to dry off the excess liquid sticking uncomfortably to her hands and forearms.
Caitlyn sputtered— seriously, what was with her and sputtering, today? “Yes. Very glad.” Caitlyn confirmed dryly, coughing away the crack in her voice. “Although—now I’m curious about one thing.”
“Yeah?”
“What shall we do about…” Caitlyn trailed off to wordlessly gesture back and forth between the both of them. “Assuming we go home, immediately wash the stain, and dry it— then what? How do we give it to each other?”
Well, the answer seems simple— tracking the other person down, and handing the article of clothing like any normal exchange, but it was a lot more complicated than that. They didn’t exactly share class schedules, classrooms, or even a similar circle of friends ( at least that’s what she knows of, because she would’ve definitely worked up the courage to speak to Vi if they shared mutual friends ), and this knowledge would undoubtedly make the exchange back harder than it needed to be.
“Hm.” Vi began to think of a solution—or at least pretended to, but Caitlyn would be none the wiser, as all she could focus on was the cute way her features scrunched together with consideration.
Once Vi had finished thinking, however, a lopsided grin had already crept its way onto her lips. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” Vi answered, inauspiciously. “Time will have to tell.”
Caitlyn crossed her arms together, and sighed. “You’re speaking in riddles, Vi. You answered nothing and everything at the same time.”
The grin on Vi’s face grew, which only made Caitlyn unsure if good things were about to follow, or not.
And then— it happens. “It’ll have to be a date, cupcake.”
Caitlyn wasn’t sure if she almost tripped over herself because of the nickname, or because of the date aspect of Vi’s suggestion—but either way, the nearly juvenile mistake of tripping over nothing will surely be something that she’ll blame on the long, baggy legs of her borrowed pants. Yes, that is the entire reason. Nothing else.
“A date?” She quizzically echoed, wanting to confirm if she had heard that right.
And she sure did hear correctly, as Vi repeated the word back with a firm nod. “Yeah, a date.” She said casually, though the pink dusting her cheeks and the tips of her ears told her that this was anything but. “I’ll hold you up to it, yeah?”
Caitlyn swallowed; hearing a sudden heartbeat come alive in her ears. Mel and Jayce wouldn’t be able to believe what just happened to her—and this time, she wouldn’t blame them whatsoever, as she couldn’t believe a single thing that just happened in these last few seconds to be true.
Either way, if this was some dream gifted by Caitlyn’s overactive imagination—then, they might as well just pry the bed off of Caitlyn’s cold, dead hands, because she was never going to leave this. Not now, or ever—at least for as long as Vi would have her.
“I–I would like that.”
Getting a date, whether or not it would lead to the desired outcome of a relationship with her hallway crush, made becoming a laughing stock for an entire day absolutely worth it.
Vi didn’t know what was worse; the fact that it was already the end of the school day, and she was turning heads for all the wrong reasons, or that Mylo and Powder—two siblings that notoriously clashed heads whenever they were presented the chance—had called for a temporary truce in order to laugh their asses off at the sight of her wearing a skirt.
“ Oh wow—it’s nice, I swear— wow— ”
“Lie through your teeth again, Mylo, and you won’t have any.” Vi bit back, remembering with some disdain that she couldn’t sit on this damn bench the way she wanted to—since she had traded her pants for Caitlyn’s restrictive uniform skirt. She watched, with the same disdain growing by the minute, as a crowd of dismissed topsider students stopped leaving the school grounds to marvel at Vi; like she was some spectacle, a caged animal performing tricks for them.
Powder wheezed. “It’s not bad— it’s just a choice! ” Powder rebutted, feeling a new wave of laughter and tears washing over her, as she took another glance at Vi’s clothes clashing together in appearance.
Vi turned to Claggor, who was pointedly not making eye contact with her. He looked as if he found the ceiling to be a much more interesting conversationalist than the three of them combined.
“Claggor.” Mylo egged on, trying to grab at his face to angle it towards Vi’s general direction. When Claggor narrowly evades his advances, Mylo harrumphs. “ Look at Vi. ”
“Nope. Won’t do it.”
“Claggor—” Powder joined in, frantically knocking her fists into the meat of his back. “ Claaaagg—just one glance— ”
“No thank you, I prefer to walk away with my life, and— oh that’s not— ”
Now, Vi had three siblings laughing at her. Three for three. What a life she was living—was she even respected, anymore?
But she couldn’t complain; not when she kind of did this to herself—all for a pretty topside girl who had dark blue hair, oceans for eyes, a cute gap between her teeth, and who was overall just way too cute to abandon.
And was it worth it?
Well…
“Caitlyn, dear, what in heaven’s name are you wearing?”
All three of her siblings ceased their laughter to pause, and look for the source of the perplexed question.
Just a few benches away from them was Caitlyn Kiramman standing alongside her two friends, and in front of a woman—who looked to be like a more posh, older version of Caitlyn that wore dark brown hair. Even from here, the group could see that it was clearly her mother, and the heavily incredulous look that the woman was throwing at Caitlyn’s way—as well as the elegance of her hand clasped against her chest, like the woman was trying to stop shock from letting her heart leap out of her chest.
Though, on the contrary, Caitlyn seemed entirely unbothered.
“I’m wearing pants, since I stained my skirt.” She shrugged, as she continued to lift the bagginess of her pants like some fairytale princess gliding across the lush meadows of the land. Her entire upper half screamed Piltover; with her iron pressed blouse, straightened uniform tie, midnight blue hair that was combed into silky streams, and her face clean of any blemishes and imperfections. Meanwhile, her entire lower half donned in pants too baggy in fitting told a completely different story, and that wasn’t agreeing well with the older woman.
“Yes, dear. I can see that.” The woman commented, zeroing in on Caitlyn’s new pair of pants. She looked utterly appalled with Caitlyn’s get up, and… she wouldn’t be entirely wrong to think that way. Caitlyn looked… absolutely ridiculous, unorthodox in fashion sense, but Vi’s heart battered against the inside of her ribcage—uncaring about any differences, like she was looking at the girl straight from her dreams.
“And besides,” Caitlyn added; looking genuinely ashamed of herself. “I didn’t want to be a bother. I should’ve kept track of it, anyway.”
The lines on the woman’s face softened, as did the exasperation on her face. “Dear, you could’ve just phoned us.” She spoke, gently. “We could’ve sent something your way—this would’ve never been trouble for us.” The woman sighed, brushing a loose piece of hair out of Caitlyn’s face. Then, she turned towards her male friend—Jayce, probably—and nearly froze him out with the ice in her stare. “Jayce, do tell me that Caitlyn was aware of this option, yes?”
Vi held back a snicker, as she watched how the esteemed Man of Progress hesitated underneath the posh woman’s solid stare. “She didn’t—”
“Are those your pants?” Powder’s voice boomed with a flat comment; loud enough for everyone and their mothers to hear with careless ease.
Vi flinched at the offending sound. Fuck. She almost didn’t want to turn her head to watch the way Caitlyn’s friends, and mother turned their heads to stare at the source of the sound—nor, did she really want to look at the expressions on Caitlyn’s mother’s face, when she realizes that someone like her was currently wearing her daughter’s heavily stained skirt.
But she did—and nearly had to stop her soul from leaving her body then and there
Vi shot Powder with a look of betrayal, and hoped with some luck that her face looked gutted with enough raw emotion to the point of stopping Powder from saying anything else—but unfortunately, things didn’t end there. “Are you guys dating?” Vi nearly flung herself off of her seat to clasp a hand over Powder’s mouth, but unfortunately for her— again —Powder was smaller, and quick on her feet—which was enough for her to dodge Vi’s efforts. “Is that why you’re wearing her skirt, and she’s wearing your pants?”
What. A. Little. Shit. This was her sister in blood too. Oh—the betrayal— “Keep your voice down, Pow—!”
“Did you finally decide to do something about your hallway crush?—”
Vi groaned; giving up on the lost cause that was trying to silence her little sister. She buried her face into her hands to shield herself from her siblings’ careless laughter, and the pointed, knowing looks that Caitlyn’s friends, and mother (gods, in no circumstances, should she ever meet the woman) send her way.
Damn Powder for her comedically loud voice, Damn Mylo for being a little shit, Damn Claggor for betraying her and switching sides, and hell— damn Jayce Talis too, just for existing there, really.
And actually—maybe damn everyone else’s opinion of her, because Caitlyn was now looking at her— smiling at her, like she was the only person to ever exist in the world.
“ Thank you. ” She mouthed without a sound, sharing the gift that was her ocean blue eyes sparkling with genuine gratitude, before finally allowing her mother and friends help her walk in her comedically baggy pants; with gentle hands pressed against her back.
“Looks like someone has a date.” Claggor commented; this time quieter than anything Mylo or Powder has said; almost as if he was reluctant of Vi hearing him. “So, I guess wearing the skirt was worth it?”
Vi scoffed—after all, the answer’s already obvious.
“A hundred percent.”