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This isn’t Vi’s first Snowdown. It isn’t even her coldest.
She isn’t sure those six Snowdowns forty floors below ground counted- they certainly weren’t festive. No garlands on her prison bars.
No garlands in The Last Drop, either. Her family’s rendition of the holiday hadn’t needed bells and whistles. For a city that was always a gas-warmed, filthy kind of hot, Vander could make their family Snowdowns feel like coming in from a blizzard. That was enough. To gather for dinner with the weight of it being an important day- get extra potatoes in their stew. New scrap snuck underneath Powder’s pillow.
There isn’t a shred of that humbleness here. Snow actually touches down on Piltover’s terrain, gathering in a light, fluffy layer. Ribbons of royal blues and golds adorn every reachable surface, the promenades thick with the smell of pine. Their grand tree peeks out above some of their few lowest buildings, standing tall and proud in the center city, the bottom branches decorated with ornaments left by its citizens.
No, this isn’t Vi’s first Snowdown- but it’s her first like this.
Her first waking up to a light snowfall. Days ago, she’d stood outside, let snowflakes collect in her hair, pristine, the same way she likes to stand in the rain to relish that she gets to. Her cheeks had gone bright red and her fingers tingly, but it had been so worth it to hear a fretting voice call her back inside.
Cait. Who has been incredibly single-minded in her desperation to make sure Vi experiences good firsts. Vi isn’t getting a moment’s peace this month- both her first birthday behind her and first Snowdown out of prison on the horizon- and this suits her sickeningly fine. She’s a fat and happy cat, spoiled by Cait's affection.
They’re a few months out of the war. Probably too few to deserve relishing in the holiday this much. But tragedy makes a city desperate for normalcy, which is something she can’t begrudge Piltover for- especially when it’d make her a hypocrite.
For all the nauseating, heartbreaking life she’s lived thus far- she is strangely excited for a domestic, warm Snowdown with Cait, where nothing happens. A modest dinner, trading gifts (recently, Vi has been quite the annoying patron at the fancy stationary store downtown), cuddling by the fireplace, that’ll suit her just fine. Lots of touching, too. Her favourite.
She’s upon the gates of the Kiramman estate, pushing the front doors open and shaking the snow from her hair in a pointed act of defiance, muddying the pristine entrance to the sitting room. Her coat is a modified find from down in Zaun, interior lined with cozy fur at Caitlyn’s thorough insistence- she throws it over the back of a chair, and heads further into the house in search of the woman she left here this morning.
Snowdown seems to have thrown up in every corner of the Kiramman estate- there are garlands where they hadn’t been before, put up in rooms Vi isn’t sure she’s ever even been inside, glancing into them as she passes. It’s a nice pop of childish colour and wonder to an otherwise archaic, wheezing house.
Above every doorframe she ducks through is a decoration she’s less familiar with, though- a bow-tied sprig of leaves and white berries, certainly artificial, with the way they gleam. There were wreaths on many of the doors she walked by downtown on her errand run. She assumes these must serve a similar decorative purpose.
“Cait?” Vi calls as she nears the office, its door oddly wide open. She’s through it before she gets an answer, and finds her girlfriend right where she left her, but certainly not in the same state.
A hefty box takes up the bulk of the coffee table Vi favours as a sitting spot. From it, garlands spill, the interior gleaming with the promise of even more decorations. Several of its empty brethren lie on the floor around it- hilariously, and quite predictably, they are all labelled SNOWDOWN in signature Kiramman cursive, complete with the symbol they put on everything from bathrobes to throw pillows.
Cait is midway through tying a sprig of those white berries to the point of the spiral staircase which hangs just above her head when she whips around to gawk at Vi like she’s been caught doing something illicit. She blooms a cute red, down to her collarbone, exposed in the blazerless uniform chemise she’s unbuttoned down from its typical, perfectly professional state.
“Welcome back,” Cait says breathlessly. A little… invitingly, if Vi isn’t mistaken. Her girlfriend straightens her posture and looks at Vi like she’s waiting.
Vi huffs a little laugh under her breath. Who is she to deny Caitlyn the compliment she’s so obviously fishing for? “You put these up yourself?”
“I had some spare time,” Caitlyn says, a little smirk gracing her lips.
Vi is admittedly impressed. The Kiramman staff certainly do exist, but the house is so big they barely cross paths- Vi assumed even the joyous act of decorating her own house would’ve been offloaded to one of them, in favour of the paperwork glaring at her from her overflowing desk, but not so.
“They’re nice,” Vi smiles, walking over to inspect the box of decorations, intent on pitching in.
Behind her, Caitlyn is quiet. Then, almost inaudibly, she laughs- awkwardly, nervously, as if shaking off a disappointment.
“They… are.”
Vi’s too caught up in grinning at the misshapen doberman ornament buried at the bottom of the box to notice. She drags it out- in the light of the office, it becomes incredibly obvious this is the handiwork of a younger Caitlyn, several Snowdowns ago. She raises an eyebrow at her girlfriend, hooks it onto her finger, and waggles it side to side.
“Haven’t done the tree yet?”
The Kiramman’s Snowdown tree is, all things considered, quite modest. Vi’s certain the other houses have theirs in the sitting room- immediately accessible to guests, who would go on and on about their aesthetically pleasing, groaningly boring colour combinations. The point of a Snowdown tree, above all else, is to be cohesive as possible- according to Piltie logic.
Caitlyn, of course is doing it differently- god forbid she conform to Piltover’s holiday standards. Vi helped heft the fresh pine into their foyer a few days ago, prepped for whenever Caitlyn found herself free enough from work.
Now, the whole room is doused in sap smell when they step into it with the box of decorations. Another little sprig greets them above the doorway, and Cait lingers there as Vi sets the box down, puts her hands on her hips, and considers their best method of tackling the tree.
“What usually goes on first?” she asks, turning to Caitlyn, who watches her with a wistful, but otherwise inscrutable expression.
“Father would fluff the branches for at least an hour,” she says with a little huff of amusement, “Mother and I would brew tea and get through two cups before he was done.”
“Is that an essential part of the process?”
Caitlyn looks at her for a second too long, before she sighs, unbearably fond. “Fluff it to your heart’s content.”
Vi does, determined not to keep her waiting like her dad does, but surprisingly, quite passionate about ensuring it looks appropriately fluffed. Once she’s done that to her satisfaction, next come the lights, which Caitlyn helps her with. They wind those around the tree in a fun circle, then do the same with the garlands, tucking them safely between the pine’s bristles.
When Vi brushes her hands together to shake off little bits of clingy glitter, she turns to see Caitlyn, adorably, has been sorting the ornaments into like groups along the couch, and is clearly in the middle of wondering whether a deer with candy cane antlers fits better with the candy cane or animal ornaments.
She does this with the same furrow in her brow she wears when she’s hours deep into a report for a case she’s not allowed to be in the field working on yet, or when it’s early morning and she’s glaring at her assortment of teabags like they’ll magically tell her which one she wants with her breakfast.
Vi has her preference of which one goes on first- the chipped doberman, of course, which she hooks onto the tree with a pleasure that makes Cait flush.
“I was seven, I think,” Caitlyn says shyly, “They’ve insisted it go on the tree every year.”
Her smile twitches mournfully. Tobias is abroad- it’s good for him, Caitlyn had assured her, that he finds comfort in his birthplace this vulnerable time of year. But his absence makes this Caitlyn’s first Snowdown without either of her parents there. Vi isn’t hoping to insert herself into all their traditions as a shoddy replacement, pretending the grief isn’t there. She hopes they can fumble through this joint first together- laugh over childhood ornaments just as much as shed tears over memories.
“Front and center,” Vi insists, petting the dog’s head just to get Caitlyn to laugh, and they set to hooking the rest of them onto the tree, together.
The Kiramman family history unfolds before her- souvenirs from the years they travelled most, delicate handmade things from the many Piltovan artists and makers they’ve supported, the occasional worn, childhood memento. There is hardly harmony to the mess they end up with, but Vi thinks it’s all perfect. Caitlyn, too, if the way she sinks into her side is any indication.
The walls grow bristles- memories are a sharp thing, and Vi finds herself mourning a tradition her family never partook in. Her and Caitlyn decorate in delicate coexistence- she can only imagine how long this would’ve taken with her siblings on the job.
Where would they have gotten a tree? In this daydream, it doesn’t matter- they have one, and The Last Drop smells like pine, and it’s the ugliest thing that’s ever graced the Lanes. Hastily thrown on garlands, courtesy of Mylo, carefully tucked in by Claggor afterwards. Flickering, too-bright Chemtech lights sputtering between the branches, a definite fire-hazard. Ornaments with Ekko’s signature flair.
Then, a star, which only Vander would be tall enough to add- but he pulls up a chair, just so Powder can have the honour.
Vi cuts herself on the fantasy. The sting in her eyes is a sweet, cathartic thing. She wonders how they celebrate the holidays in Demacia, or Bilgewater, or wherever Jinx has gotten stuck for the winter. She always got so cold, so easily.
Caitlyn’s warm neck makes a good place to hide. She buries a teary eye in the collar of her chemise, and while she’s there, whispers, “It needs a star.”
Her girlfriend’s height is quite advantageous to exploit for this kind of thing. Caitlyn gladly retrieves it (a rather standard star- Vi has practicalled expected a golden Kiramman logo to top it off with an on-brand flourish) and while she stretches to put it on, Vi wraps her arms around waist. She dips her nose into her back, greedily inhales the scents accumulated there- the warm wet of this morning’s steam ironing, her woody office incense, the cling of pine they won’t be able to wash off for weeks.
They admire the finished tree like this, back to front, Caitlyn’s glittery hands coming down to caress Vi’s own. Disgustingly domestic. They look fit for an unremarkable home’s mantle photograph. After all they’ve been through, they probably fucking deserve to be.
It’s a perfectly noisy tree. A product of their quiet teamwork. When they’d first met, forty floors below sea level, Vi never could have guessed they’d end up here- that the enforcer staring between the bars, stood stoic like a deer, would drag her into this domestic arrangement, nevermind that she’d be desperate for it. It’s the kind of fever dream a younger Vi would have on the bottom bunk of her bed between bouts of brief and sweaty sleep.
That young Vi is older now, and she wakes up in this absurd place to the peaceful sight of an absurd woman every morning.
“Do you decorate like this in Zaun?” Caitlyn asks as she pulls Vi through the doorway, the tree’s scent on its way to giving her a migraine, no doubt.
Still, they linger in the doorway as if stopped by an invisible force. “Not really, but some of us would try with what we could find. No trees besides the ginkgo at Ekko’s-” she laughs involuntarily, “That would be such a bitch to decorate.”
“Take the leftover garlands with you tomorrow, then,” Caitlyn insists with a giggle, “It won’t cover even one whole branch, but the kids might like the glittery ones.”
God, Vi loves her. She has half a mind to kiss her right in this doorway, but the unconscious furrow of Cait’s brow has her dragging her girlfriend away from reeking room first, which Caitlyn must find amusing, judging by the fond, yet exasperated huff she lets out against Vi’s lips, seconds later.
The cloudy sky casts a greyed, perfectly wintery light onto the buzzing Firelight sanctuary, sadly lacking it’s namesake, the bugs retreating for warmer cracks in the fissures.
Caitlyn could not have been more correct- Vi watches as Teelee wrangles a gaggle of Firelight children, all clamouring to wrap a garland around a pitifully tiny part of the tall tree. They get glitter in their hair and, consequently, in Scar’s too, when they have to climb onto his shoulders to reach.
It’s such a hopeful picture. Vi feels several of her organs squeeze with emotion, tears springing to her eyes. She’s become such an easy happy-crier, which she hasn’t had much opportunity to be in the last few years, but better to weep over good things, she thinks.
Besides the jolly gaggle of kids, it’s business as usual for the Firelights- recently opened to Zaun’s public, feeding more mouths than they’ve ever had to, with more resources now at their disposal. Vi pitches in where she can, does whatever is available to ease Ekko’s burden.
“Happy Snowdown,” says the young man himself, sneaking up on Vi and nearly catching her with watery eyes.
“Save it for the day, little man,” Vi reminds him, subtly rubbing her face of evidence, “You are not getting out of dinner.”
He groans- the promise of a rich, mouth-watering Kiramman catered meal is never enough to excite him for a jaunt Topside. “Will your girl’s eye twitch if my suit isn’t a rich enough green?”
The lingering animosity between Ekko and her girlfriend- really, a one-sided, justifiable wariness- has been a slow, healing thing, intercut with some of the weirdest dinners of Vi’s life. Having Ekko at the estate feels rather like exposing her open chest, bloody entrails and all, like a gored, submissive hound, but Caitlyn is innocently insistent he take a serving from the Snowdown eve dinner Vi already knows could feed twenty Stillwaters.
“You’ll be fine,” Vi knocks his shoulder gently, grinning, “Show up in your muddy patrol boots, make a statement if you want.”
Ekko grunts at the octave which means fine, but I’m not gonna like it.
A teenaged Firelight walks by with tonight’s dinner ingredients stacked ambitiously high in his arms. Jord, if she remembers correctly- has an older brother who fought next to her in the war. He’s the kind of almost-adult who’s still young enough to have his cheeks pinched. Two of Vi’s little boxing circle students have starry-eyed crushes on him.
He hefts the boxes through the open doorway leading into the kitchen, and when he emerges they’re out of his arms. Just as he leans on the frame to take a subtle breather, a triumphant shout rings out from somewhere behind Vi and Ekko.
“Caught you!”
Jord narrows his eyes. “Wha-” he glances up, and instantly goes red.
Zanni is a fellow teenage Firelight, an apprentice mural painter, who zips across the sanctuary to meet Jord in the doorway, a big, toothy smile on her blushy face. They speak in a quick, private whisper, and Vi catches the almost imperceptible nod from Jord a split second before they’re, unbelievably, kissing, right in front of several witnesses.
Vi quickly averts her eyes. Hilariously, Ekko’s cheeks have gone dark, lips screwed in a scowl as he too avoids looking over there. Some things never change.
“Looks like love blooms, even when flowers can’t,” Vi sighs wistfully, and he practically gags.
“Corny,” he snorts, even as his cheeks continue to burn. “Zanni read a Snowdown romance book from the pile we were donated. Now she’s set up traps all around base.”
“...Traps?”
Ekko, eyes rolling, has her follow him across the sanctuary, to one of the little storage room doors around the perimeter. Above the doorway is a familiar sight- a little sprig of leaves and it’s distinctive white berries.
Oh. Cogs begin to click together in Vi’s mind.
“These?” Ekko says, jostling the little decoration, “Mistletoe. All to kiss Jord. I told her he liked her back. Kids, man.”
Vi is too busy putting the pieces together to remind him he’s barely older than them. She considers the plant, the way a doorframe is so perfectly crafted to hold two close bodies, how certain it is you’ll end up walking through one. Several, even.
She valiantly smothers a grin she’s certain Ekko would make fun of her for. “So, what, you get caught under one of these, and…?”
“Can’t leave without a kiss,” he shrugs, “Hasn’t tried it with anyone else she’s caught, though. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Vi echoes, and her feet itch to make an almost embarrassing run for it. Suddenly- urgently- she has somewhere to be.
She doesn’t quite run, but her pace is too frantic to fool anyone watching.
In fact, she makes it back to the estate in record time- the sun hasn’t even set yet, which is an achievement, given the season. The savoury smell of dinner is already on the air as she bursts into the sitting room, shaking her hair of snow so fast she nearly topples over.
Fuck, she might not even be home. Vi’s just about to figure out what she’s meant to do with the urgency coiled in her stomach when brisk footsteps grow louder and louder as they approach.
“Vi?”
Her heart rate picks up dangerously at the beautiful, shocked curl of her name. Coming through the hall doorway- and staying in the doorway- is Cait, in that same ironed, under-uniform chemise, ink stained fingers tucked into her palms, resting below her chest.
Above her- that taunting, reliable mistletoe.
“You’re back early,” Caitlyn murmurs, and Vi remembers yesterday’s breathy tone. The inviting tilt of her body, the wordless waiting, the fucking sprig hanging there.
None of that flirty posture is here now. Vi isn’t even sure she knows what she’s standing under, again. She is very glad to remind her.
In seconds, Vi is on her, yanking her close when the distance she still has to speed-walk is too far for how much she needs this. Caitlyn goes without resitance, gasping into her mouth like she’s still surprised they can do this on the regular, before giving in so quickly and so gorgeously.
Vi pins her to the wall next to the doorframe, which could be cheating, being out of range- strike her down if so, but only after she’s had her fill. Cait’s mouth tastes like peppermint tea, delightfully seasonally appropriate, lips dry from the weather, but not for long. Her arms hang over her shoulders as Vi’s find her stunning, filled-out waist, wrapping around her healing body.
She hums shamelessly into the kiss, amusement in the rumble that has Caitlyn pulling back just to glare at her, even as she pants rather unthreateningly into Vi’s open, grinning mouth.
“You know you’re silly, right?” Vi says, her voice mostly air.
“Ah?” Caitlyn’s eye widens with indignation, the effect rather diminished by how adorably red she’s gotten. “What have I done?”
Vi’s eyes find the mistletoe, and she watches with delight as Cait’s face screws sheepishly. She kisses the rosy apple that is her cheek, just below the eyepatch, and keeps her mouth there.
“If you wanted a kiss, just ask,” she purrs, snorts, undignified, right in Cait’s face, “I don’t speak plant, babe.”
Caitlyn rolls her eye- a still scarily effective manoeuvre- grasping Vi’s chin with inky fingers to make their lips meet once more. It’s one big, uninterrupted kiss, all suction, as if sipping each other’s essences. They separate with a dramatic smack that would hopefully scandalize every upper echelon douchebag Caitlyn’s paperwork is for.
Her girlfriend sighs, and Vi huddles closer. They’re still pinned to the wall of the sitting room, where any of the elusive staff could walk in, and Vi is starting to wonder if the reason she barely sees them around is because they’re afraid of stumbling across exactly this.
She can’t find it in herself to care, not when Caitlyn’s gaze goes glassy, enticing. A graceful finger slowly traces the edge of Vi’s rounding, well-fed jawline, devotedly aimless.
“Would it be selfish of me to say I’ve fantasized about a kiss beneath the mistletoe since I was a yearnful teenager?” she practically whispers, and Vi sees it for the nostalgic detail it is, beneath the layers of sensuality.
So, Vi drags her back into the doorframe, the mistletoe their witness. Kisses her so very politely, a perfect mantle centerpiece. Then, with a sharp, cutting grin, rumbles, “Oh, I can give you more than a kiss.”
Cait gives a stuttery huff of laughter, delightfully scandalized. “You would tarnish this ancient Snowdown tradition?”
“I’ve tarnished you on, next to, and under a lot of things.”
“Well, I didn’t miss decorating a single doorway,” Cait says directly into Vi’s hanging, hungry mouth, “So I believe you have a lot of work to catch up on, love.”
“Lucky me, then,” Vi practically growls as her greedy hands move down that handsome back, “That my schedule’s cleared for the holidays.”