Chapter Text
Caitlyn: I
Monday Morning
Zzzt zzzt. Zzzt zzzt. Zzzt Z—
Caitlyn’s hand fumbled blindly for her cell phone, knocking the slim new HexTech model off her nightstand. She still hadn't gotten used to her birthday gift from Jayce. Groaning out a “fuck” muffled by her comforter, the half-asleep woman reached down and accepted the call before it could go to voicemail.
“Detective Kiramman speaking,” Caitlyn damped a yawn in her hand as Sheriff Timios’ gravelly voice scraped through her phone’s speakers.
“We need you up in the Bluewind Court, another body was found. I’ll message you the address.” The Sheriff’s raspy voice cut off as he ended the call before Caitlyn could respond. Sighing, the raven-haired detective rolled onto her back, blood rushing to her head after having still been bent over the side of her bed. Her phone buzzed as Caitlyn rubbed the sleep out of the corner of her eye and sat up, stumbling to her kitchen. Rubbing her stomach as she pressed the button on her espresso machine, Caitlyn let out a deep sigh and dropped her phone on the table, shuffling to the restroom.
Looking into the mirror at the darkened bags beneath her bloodshot eyes, Caitlyn let out a soft sigh of frustration. The faint purple bruises shadowing her under-eyes had become a permanent feature lately, and no amount of concealer could fully mask her exhaustion. She splashed cold water on her face, the icy shock doing little to shake the heavy weight pressing on her chest.
Reaching for the jar of concealer her mother had insisted she take after their last dinner, Caitlyn dabbed a glob onto her fingertips, patting it over the worst of the discoloration. It helped—barely. She leaned closer, brushing a thumb over her lashes to dislodge the rheum clinging to the corners of her eyes.
The morning routine had become a tired ritual, and as she reached for her toothbrush, the tedium weighed heavier. She brushed her teeth quickly, the minty foam threatening to trigger her gag reflex when her head drooped forward involuntarily. Jolting upright, Caitlyn gripped the edge of the sink, steadying herself.
“Maybe I should start taking weekends,” she muttered under her breath. The thought was fleeting, drowned out by the sharp echo of Jayce’s voice in her head, his exasperated “I told you so!” ringing louder than she cared to admit.
But there wasn’t time for self-pity. She didn’t have the luxury of slowing down—not now, not with this case.
Her gaze flickered to the small silver tin sitting neatly on the bathroom counter, its surface gleaming under the fluorescent light. She hesitated for a moment, her reflection staring back at her with the quiet judgment she tried to ignore.
Caitlyn flipped the lid open, revealing a neat row of tiny capsules nestled within. Medical-grade stimulants, prescribed under the guise of her high-intensity workload but taken more liberally than she cared to acknowledge.
Pinching one between her fingers, she swallowed it dry, the bitter taste catching briefly on her tongue. She winced, following it with a gulp of water from the sink. Within moments, she felt the familiar kick — a sharp clarity cutting through the fog in her brain, the weight in her limbs lifting just slightly.
It wasn’t ideal, and she knew it wasn’t sustainable. But it was necessary.
Straightening her spine, Caitlyn tucked the tin back into its hiding spot in the drawer, pressing it shut with a firm snap. The surge of energy brought with it a renewed sense of focus, her mind sharpening as she reached for her coat. She was awake now, and that would have to be enough.
Throwing her hair up in a high ponytail and heading into her closet, she threw on a black turtle-neck sweater, slacks, and her academy-assigned boots. Thankfully, as Caitlyn was no longer a beat cop she wasn't obligated to wear the academy blues. Initially after her promotion to detective, she did, hoping that her former fellow enforcers would take it as a gesture of cooperation and amiability. She continued for a whole year before she found out they thought she had a stick up her ass. When she came to work out of uniform the next week, someone asked if “Princess Kiramman thought she was too good for the blues”. Ultimately, Caitlyn realized that no matter what she did, most of her co-workers would always either hate her, be jealous of her, or both. It was less work to stop caring.
After putting in another pod and pressing the button, she took a seat at her small kitchen table, sleepily sipping her first espresso. Caitlyn looked out her window at the frost coating the distant roofs on the other side of the river, the puffs of black smoke turning the sky above Zaun a sad sort of grey, and wondered about the scene awaiting her arrival. Her phone buzzed with a news report — thankfully not about the case, yet. There had been four murders so far — three victims from Zaun, and one from Piltover. Technically they hadn't officially been ruled homicide… yet. The young detective had her reasons.
Caitlyn had started looking into the case after the first body was found. The Piltover Press, however, only started reporting after the most recent, high-profile victim was uncovered: Annie Cassowary, a Piltovan socialite from an architectural family. After only a week, an airhead journalist Caitlyn may or may not have drunkenly fucked in a dorm during her undergraduate years, (and never called back), had already started questioning her ability to solve this case.
Zoning out into the swirling patterns across the wooden table, Caitlyn couldn't help but see the face of that first victim — a Zaunite boy of 17. Bulging purple veins spread across all visible skin, and an arm covered in blood up to his elbow. His intestines had been ripped out through his stomach — as if… someone… had reached a hand into his stomach and… pulled. His face had remained frozen in a silent scream, muscles locked in terror. Caitlyn shuddered as she recalled her realization. She was glad nobody else had responded to that call — Caitlyn had doubled over and emptied her stomach at the sight.
At the ding of her espresso machine, Caitlyn shook the memory of that boy's face from her mind and rose, dropping an ice cube from the cold box in the fresh espresso. Tugging on a woolen grey sweater and gloves, she grabbed the belt that held her gun and badge and fastened it around her hips, taking a deep breath. She hoped there wouldn’t be press at the scene already, but one could never be sure. The detective then grabbed her phone and keys, chugged her cooled espresso, and walked out the door.
The air in Piltover’s upper district was clean, free from smog or any unpleasant smells, masked by the city’s ingenious sewage infrastructure. Here, however, the air stank of burnt blood and something almost sweet. Caitlyn crouched near the crumpled body of a young man — Chao Wu, a native-Ionian immigrant from a wealthy merchant family.
The body had been found by a Zaunite escort, “Angel,” who had been cleared before Caitlyn got there. Apparently, several witnesses and public transit records supported the young male prostitute as not being there at the time of Wu’s death. He had, however, been on his way to a pre-arranged appointment with the victim. It would certainly be odd for a man to kill himself before such a meeting — especially a man like Chao Wu who did not show any previous warning signs. Caitlyn Caitlyn recalled seeing him at her mother’s social functions — he was authentic, and kind. An odd sort for those kinds of events. She only recalled him due to his obvious discomfort at the horrid affairs she spent the majority of the time drinking on some distant balcony.
Occasionally Jayce joined her — Mel Medara and Viktor, Jayce’s partners, never tended to drink much at these events. Viktor, because he rarely ever drank, and Mel because she attended these events solely for political gain. “A clear mind among drunken fools leads to one or two too many zeros on a check I've found,” Mel had said one evening at a private dinner between the four of them. Caitlyn found herself once again thankful she never followed her mother into politics.
A forensic enforcer collecting samples bumped into her shoulder, jolting her from her memories. The brunette muttered a half-apology as they walked off to input whatever evidence they had collected, as the detective turned back to Chao’s body. She’d spoken to him in passing once at a function. She couldn't remember exactly what he’d said, only that he seemed fascinated by an odd sort of fume-eating fungus, and mentioned something about a potential investment in the Undercity. Whatever it was, she supposed it didn't matter now.
Smeared across the marble floor of a once-pristine ballroom, Caitlyn followed a trail of purple-tainted blood to an unturned piano bench. Behind it lay a series of windows. Caitlyn stepped closer, inspecting each lock before she found it — there, behind the curtain. A single window, ever so slightly open, lock unlatched.
Caitlyn clenched her jaw. This wasn't the first potential instance of breaking and entering — however minimal they each were. A suspiciously open window on a cold day on the second floor, or an open door with the latch in lock position. Not enough to directly point to an invasion, but enough to give the detective pause. Turning back to Chao Wu, Caitlyn examined the discolored corpse. The victim’s swollen veins glowed faintly purple, his eyes bulged open in a rigid cry of horror. Shimmer residue coated his lips, suggesting an overdose — or a forced injection. Around his neck, a jagged gash oozed crimson, staining the silk of his once-elegant clothing. In his hand was a small pocket knife. The detective started at its sheath, delicately carved ivory and crafted gold now covered in rotted, viscous blood that stained the bone. A slip of paper, like a card, peeked out from the pocket of his robe.
“Another one, huh?” an enforcer — different from the brunette who had knocked into her before — muttered, nearly stepping on a smudge of Wu’s blood. Caitlyn quickly straightened out an arm, blocking the lad before he could contaminate the scene any further than he likely had.
“Yes. Another one,” she snaps, her voice sharp and raspy. She hadn't spoken at all this morning save for her greeting on the phone. She gestured toward the back of the room, silently ordering the enforcer to get out of her way.
He fidgeted, shuffling backward as he muttered something that sounded like “Princess Kiramman”. Caitlyn nearly rolled her eyes, ‘I mean seriously,’ she scoffed in her head, ‘people could at the very least be original.’ Caitlyn ignored him, her frustration simmering beneath the surface. Another life lost, another clue pointing to Zaun, and another reminder of how little her colleagues respect her.
Caitlyn’s jaw tightened as she tucked her badge away and carefully knelt by the body. She barely suppressed a grimace when her knee twinged at the marble floor's cold, still healing from being knocked out of place. During her days as a beat cop, Caitlyn had stumbled upon an attempted assault in an alleyway in the University District. Some Piltovan douche had a drunk college girl trapped against a wall, and Caitlyn — unthinking and without backup, jumped in to help. The man was tall and broad, and during the scuffle where he’d finally been placed in handcuffs, he had kicked in her knee, slightly displacing her patella. Thankfully her knee had healed and was mostly fine, her father didn’t note any major damage, but stabs of pain in the cold were common.
Pulling on her gloves, Caitlyn gently tugged the card free from Wu’s pocket. The black slip was indented with a single word, gently engraved in the paper and nearly missed in the dim light.
‘Cerberus.’
Cerberus… There were no Piltovan bars, clubs, or organizations by that name. Caitlyn would be sure to double-check but Kiramman women were known for their steel-trap memories. This name was new to her, considering Wu’s passing mention of business pursuits in Zaun, Caitlyn figured she would start with her boss, whose wife was Zaunite. He had elucidated several cultural differences to the investigator, and as of now, was the best place to start.
“Anything of note, Detective Kiramman?” Sherif Sadiq Timios’ gruff, level voice echoed throughout the ballroom. Most of the enforcers had cleared out by this point, and only a few members of the forensic team remained to bag and process evidence. Caitlyn wordlessly held up the card, looking into Chao Wu’s face. What business did this young man have with mysterious Zaunite enterprises? Moreover, why did he have their calling card on him just before he died?
The detective sighed and made to stand, Sheriff Timios subtly reaching out a steadying hand. Caitlyn shot him a small, grateful smile as she nodded to the slip of paper,
“Does the name ‘Cerberus’ mean anything to you, Sir?” Sheriff Timios stroked his black beard, decades of sun echoed in the deep smile lines around his eyes and mouth. He was not smiling then, eyes narrowed on the sprawled corpse before them.
“No, Detective Kiramman… It does not.” The veteran sounded troubled, and Caitlyn unconsciously began to bite at her lip.
This entire case made zero sense. None of the victims were remotely connected, other than that they were all either Zaunite or Piltovan. The only signs of breaking and entering were subtle, too easily dismissed by the majority of her fellow detectives and enforcers. The first instance of a clue was a business card with a single, unfamiliar, unestablished term. Not even Timios knew, which rattled Caitlyn.
Sheriff Timios was a brilliant man 10 years on the job, having been appointed after Marcus’ corruption was exposed via a package mysteriously delivered to the council room during a session five years ago. It contained a multitude of signed confessions, testimonies, photographs, and buried police reports, (Caitlyn still wondered how whoever exposed him managed to get their hands on those). The package also listed hundreds of Zaunite nationals illegally imprisoned in Stillwater without charge. From the reports Caitlyn read, less than 200 of these individuals remained alive by the time the corruption was exposed. Amidst the reshuffling of Piltover and Zaun’s elite — several chembarrons, enforcers, the Sheriff, and two members of the Council were found complicit. The shimmer trade had collapsed as a result — or so Caitlyn thought. Ever since, that period of time was known as the “Restructuring.”
Sadiq Timios was not the first choice for Sheriff. Though, after two Zaunites were finally installed to replace corrupt Counselors Silo and Hoskel, the council considered Timios’ wife’s Zaunite heritage as a way to “bridge the gap.” Not to mention Sadiq was a decorated war officer and veteran who had worked closely with Marcus’ predecessor. That was enough for the council, who installed him within six months of Marcus’ removal. Since then, he had been a strong and capable leader. Caitlyn trusted him, she was grateful that there was a single person on the force who didn't seem to see her as simply ‘Princess Kiramman’. It helped that he reminded her of Sheriff Grayson.
“I will speak to Nishtha, though I do not believe either of us is familiar. It's very possible that whoever’s card this is likely belongs to some of the newer businesses in Zaun.” Caitlyn nodded, already having assumed the same.
“I'll go ahead and bag this, Sir—” A hand on her arm stopped her. The lines on Sheriff Timios forehead seemed to grow deeper as he grabbed the card, placing it in her pocket. Caitlyn’s eyebrows raised in question, and the veteran shook his head as a team of coroners began to remove Chao Wu’s body.
“Something tells me you should hold onto that.” He cocked a brow at her before turning to leave. “And Detective Kiramman,” Caitlyn looked up at the man, meeting his clear eyes, “Do be careful.”
Caitlyn nodded as he shuffled away, old injuries clear in his uneven stride. The raven-haired woman let out a quiet sigh as she reached her hands into her pocket, tracing the eight letters over and over as her mind settled on a fractured plan of action. It wasn’t a perfect lead, but Caitlyn didn’t trust her colleagues to have accurately recorded the Zaunite Angel’s testimony. It was best she went down and got it herself — wherever that might be. Caitlyn walked out into the hall and grabbed the arm of one of the enforcers who interrogated the escort.
“Where was it Angel said he was employed?” The red-haired female enforcer looked up at Caitlyn having to lean her head back due to the detective's substantial height.
“Damn Kiramman, it’s that dry in Princess Land? Didnt think a lady like yourself would resort to trencher trash—” The enforcer turned to go back to her cronies, but Caitlyn bent down, hand tightening slightly on her subordinate's arm. Mouth to the ginger’s ear as she firmly but quietly said,
“Shall I inform Timios that you are impeding this investigation by withholding information?” The enforcer’s friends stared at her as the red-haired woman pulled away and scoffed, shoving a notepad into her chest.
“Brown-noser,” Caitlyn thought she might have heard as the band of idiot-enforced escaped out the main doors. Rolling her eyes, the detective looked down at the scribbled notes — she was right, there was practically zero information on his relationship to the victim. Figures. She was, however, pleasantly surprised to see at the bottom of the page:
‘Place of Employment: Babets’
Caitlyn raised a brow but shrugged her shoulders. At least she had a name… sort of…
Monday Afternoon
The hum of Piltover faded into the background as Caitlyn descended into Zaun’s chaotic sprawl. The crisp air of the upper city gave way to a dense, cloying mist tinged with oil and rust. Her boots clicked sharply on uneven cobblestones, a sound that drew the occasional curious glance from shadowed figures lurking in alleyways.
She kept her hand close to the pistol holstered beneath her grey coat, though her demeanor remained composed. Caitlyn knew better than to show fear in Zaun — it was the kind of place that could smell it.
Her destination was a place called Babets — or so the barely legible scrawl on the notepad she’d been given suggested. The name was unfamiliar, even among the extensive database of locations she’d memorized during her academy training.
Stopping on the sidewalk and shrugging, Caitlyn figured any person here likely knew better than she did. Spying a hunched figure leaning against a lamppost, she slowly walked up, hands visible, and asked, “Do you know where I can find Babets?”
The figure gave her a gap-toothed grin, his eyes gleaming with equal parts amusement and distrust. “Babets? You mean Babette’s, Piltie?” He spat the word like venom. “Odd place for the likes of you.”
Caitlyn’s jaw tightened, but she forced a polite nod. “Where is it?”
He gestured vaguely down the street. “Look for the green lanterns. Can’t miss it.”
Her strides were measured as she followed his directions, the weight of curious and distrustful stares pressing down on her. She found the brothel tucked into a darkened corner, its entrance marked by flickering green lanterns that bathed the brickwork in an eerie glow.
The inside was a stark contrast to Zaun’s grime. Plush crimson drapes hung from the walls, and the air was heavy with the scent of sex, perfume, and something metallic. The low murmur of conversation and occasional laughter created an oddly welcoming ambiance.
A tall, impeccably dressed man caught sight of her and approached with a fluid grace. His hair was platinum blond, swept back to reveal sharp features and a pair of startlingly blue eyes. “You’re not our usual clientele,” he said, his tone teasing but tinged with curiosity.
“I’m not here for that,” Caitlyn replied coolly, pulling out her badge and holding it just long enough for him to see.
“Ah, an enforcer. How charming.” The Blond placed a hand on his chest in mock surprise. “You’ll find no criminals here — just lonely hearts and willing company.”
Caitlyn arched her brow. “I’m here about the Shimmer murders. One of your… employees knew the most recent victim.”
The man’s smile faltered, and for a moment, his confident demeanor cracked. “You’re talking about Angel,” he said softly. Suddenly his eyes hardened, and he crossed his arms.
‘Defensive? No,’ Caitlyn pondered, ‘Protective.’
“Look, he’s had a shit day, and, respectfully, he doesn’t need another enforcer making him feel worse. I think you should come back another day.” The man turned to flee, but Caitlyn placed a gentle hand on his arm,
“Wait, please.” The Blond stopped, and the detective took her chance. “I don’t think he had anything to do with this. I am sorry for the behavior of my… colleagues… but I can promise you that I have no intention of upsetting Angel. All I need is information on Chao Wu, the victim. I— I am trying to prevent more lives from being lost — please. Please, take me to him.”
The man’s narrow shoulders tensed for a few moments before he nodded, softly. “Okay—”
“Okay? You’ll take me to him—?”
“Okay you can talk to him, but I’m staying in the room. The second he gets upset, you need to leave.” Sharp blue eyes met their match, and Caitlyn nodded. Together, the pair walked further into the den of lust.
“He was... a regular of mine. Sweet man. Too sweet for this place.” The small man’s voice tightened, and he looked away. His skin, a deep hickory tone, was flushed with sweat, and his eyes were raw with tears.
“You found him?” Caitlyn asked gently.
He nodded, swallowing hard. “In the ballroom, by the piano. His body was—” He closed his eyes, his composure wavering. “He didn’t deserve to go like that.”
“I’m sorry,” Caitlyn said, her voice sincere. “I know this is difficult, but I need to ask you some questions. Anything you can tell me might help.”
Angel hesitated before nodding. “What do you want to know?”
“Did Chao ever… Had he used Shimmer before?” Angel’s eyes widened in shock,
“No! Never! I told the other enforcers—!” The Blond shot the detective a warning look and Caitlyn shook her head, calming the dark-skinned escort.
“I believe you, I'm sorry — It wasn’t in the notes they left. Unfortunately, I am one of the few enforcers at my station with an actual brain in their skull.” Her attempt at humor seemed to work because Angel huffed a laugh and wiped the tears that had gathered in the corner of his eye.
Once Angel had calmed, Caitlyn produced the small black card she had found in Chao Wu’s pocket. The engraved word was illegible in the dark light — but the detective noted a flash of recognition on both Angel and the Blond’s face.
Angel’s brows furrowed as he stared at it. “Where did you get that?”
“It was with Chao,” Caitlyn replied. “Do you recognize it?”
The two men made eye contact, and a silent conversation seemingly took place. She waited.
“What do you plan to do with this information?” The question surprised her, though she thought it shouldn’t have, and Caitlyn took a moment to answer.
“I do not plan to disrupt your employment, or that of your bosses. All I seek is information related to the deaths caused by whatever strain of Shimmer is being consumed.”
Angel nodded slowly. Clearing his throat, he grabbed the Blond’s hand and met her eyes, “It’s a calling card for the… club… downstairs. Babette could tell you more. Pit fighting ring, drugs trade… It’s really not the place for an enforcer.”
“Can you take me to her?” Caitlyn asked.
Angel hesitated again, glancing toward a shadowed corridor at the back of the room. “She won’t be happy about this,” he murmured.
“Angel,” Caitlyn sighed and rubbed her face, “I am trying to avoid a situation wherein I, or other enforcers, have to come back with a warrant,” Caitlyn said, a trace of steel in her tone. “I do not want to do this, as I have already told you. But there have now been five deaths, all of which I believe were murders.”
“Chao was m-murdered?” Angel started to cry, and the Blond shot her another, sharper glare.
“That is what I am trying to figure out. If he was murdered, I will do everything in my power to bring whoever is responsible to justice. But I cannot do that without more information. Please, for Chao, will you help me?”
Angel sighed and placed his head in his hands, the Blond rubbing his back as a contemplative expression crossed his face.
“You said you believe they're all murders? I thought they were just violent suicides?” he asked, and Caitlyn shook her head. Generally, it was against policy to reveal case-sensitive information, but the detective had a feeling any information gained in this case would require a certain level of quid pro quo.
“None of the victims had previous suicide attempts, nor did any show warning signs of self-destructive behavior. Hell, only one of the victims even used drugs, and those were just party drugs. There was also evidence of possible break-ins at each site, but we can’t be sure.” The men in front of her scrunched up their eyebrows in thought, looking at each other.
“Alright…” Angel finally said, looking up at the detective through tears. The Blond nodded and rose from the cushion he’d been sitting on, gesturing for her to follow. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you.”
Caitlyn followed the man through the brothel, past heavy curtains and doors that were firmly shut were rooms that hummed with muffled voices and sounds of pleasure. The corridor ended at an oak door, its surface carved with intricate patterns. The Blond knocked once, then stepped back.
“You’ll want to tread carefully,” he said, his voice low. “Babette doesn’t like strangers — especially ones in uniform.”
Caitlyn straightened her jacket, steeling herself. “Noted.” Taking a quick breath, Caitlyn grabbed the knob.
The door opened to a modest office. Red wallpaper and velvet curtains cast the room in a warm glow, an orange lamp glowing on a rounded oval table covered in various papers, flowers, and suggestive devices. Behind it sat some sort of female Yordle in a strapless red-lace top, matched with detached ruby gloves. Her golden jewelry glinted in the soft light, as her blue-lined copper eyes locked with Caitlyn’s.
“How can I help you, Miss…?”
“Kiramman.”
Babette sat up, eyebrows twitching, clearly familiar with the name. Unsurprising she would know who her mother was, given that it seemed she held significant sway in the Undercity. “My mother is Councilor Kiramman, but I am not here on her… business.” Babette’s eyes flashed, but Caitlyn quickly recovered, “Nor for pleasure! I… Miss— Madam Babette—” Caitlyn took a breath, pissed that she was tripping over her words.
Babette wordlessly handed her a drink, and without thinking, Caitlyn grabbed it and took a sip. She felt as though she was slapped in the face — the detective didn’t think she had ever tasted a liquor so strong before. Unable to hold back a cough, Caitlyn’s face flushed and Babette chuckled,
“You must be the daughter, a…. Detective now, yes?” Caitlyn cleared her throat and nodded, recovering her composure.
“Yes, Ma’am. I have been looking into the… deaths… of various Zaunite and Piltovan citizens. All seemingly suicides related to some black market version of Shimmer.”
“I see,” Babette took a drag off the long-filtered cigarette in her hand. “So you come to the Undercity where all the Shimmer-heads were left to die?”
“No, Ma’am. Well… yes, I’ve clearly come to visit you here in Zaun, but not for that reason.”
Babette’s eyebrow raised. “Is that so? Well then, enlighten me, Detective Kiramman.”
Vi: I
Blood pounded in her ears. The crowd roared, a cacophony of jeers and cheers echoing through the smoky underground arena. Her jaw ached something fierce, and her hearing was sort of muffled. Vi wiped the blood from her split lip with the back of her wrapped hand, her muscles coiled and ready for the next round. She grasped the small glass filled with burning liquid and threw it back just as her new opponent, a hulking brute rumored to have worked with Silco, sneered at her, but Vi’s smirk never wavered. Winking, she set the glass on the wall of the ring and cracked her fingers, stretching her neck arrogantly.
The man cracked his knuckles, his wide, bulging arms stretching like tree trunks. The crowd buzzed in nervous excitement as he called out, “I’m gonna punch you dead, Dog Girl,” one first pressed into his palm. Vi just laughed at the attempt at an insult.
Vi wasn't stupid enough to think people were surprised to find her here, at Cerberus. She had always been a bit… fists before… well, anything else. But she wasn’t an idiot. Sure she didn't know as much as Ekko and her sister about certain tech-y and math-y stuff, but she liked to read. She’d always loved a good book, she got that from her father. During those years at Stillwater, it was the few moldy copies of various histories, poetries, and plays spread throughout the building that kept her sane.
“One too many hits to the dome, Dogberry?” Vi tossed out a reference at her opponent, his face frowning in confusion.
Without warning, the bell rang. Vi felt her vision tunnel on instinct, all focus narrowing sharply on her target. She immediately settled into a familiar stance — her weight-low, body coiled like a spring. Dogberry lunged forward, massive fists swinging like wrecking balls, aiming to crush her with sheer force. He had no finesse — just overwhelming size and strength. His powerful (but clumsy) right hook passed cleanly above Vi’s head as she ducked, landing a punishing blow to his ribs. The impact resonated with a sickening thud, and Dogberry grunted as he stumbled back slightly, before planting his feet.
“Come on,” Vi flirted, beckoning him forward with a smirk and a kiss. The man charged.
He swung again, this time with both fists coming down toward her head in a brutal overhead strike. Once again, Vi was ready. In a rapid, practiced motion, she ducked, slipping between his wide stance. She shot a knee up into his gut, knocking the wind out of him. He staggered back, gasping for air, but Vi didn’t give him a moment to recover. She was relentless, she had to be — every punch calculated and precise.
Vi darted forward, using her smaller frame to her advantage, slipping under his swings, and landing a series of jabs to his midsection. The crowd roared as her knuckles met flesh with brutal force. She felt his breath quicken, his massive chest heaving as he struggled to keep up with her speed. His punches were slower now, more telegraphed, but still dangerous.
Vi feigned a jab to his face, drawing his arms up in defense. With the side of his face unguarded, she planted a solid left hook to his jaw. The sickening crack of bone-on-bone echoed through the pit, and for a split second, she saw Dogberry’s eyes go wide, his head snapping back. He stumbled, disoriented, his balance wavering.
But Dogberry wasn’t out. With a roar, he launched himself at Vi, grabbing her by the arms and slamming her against the wall of the pit. The force was enough to rattle her bones, and she gasped as the air was forced from her lungs. His grip tightened, but the boxer’s reflexes kicked in. She slammed her knee into his groin, and for a moment, Dogberry froze, his face contorting in pain. The crowd erupted in cheers.
She broke free, landing two quick punches to his face before he could recover. Blood mixed with sweat as Dogberry’s lip split wide open. He bellowed in rage, swinging a backhand that caught her across the cheek, sending her stumbling to the ground.
There was a slight muffled noise, then ringing. On instinct, Vi rolled to the side — bully for her, as his foot came slamming down on the dirt she had just laid upon. Rolling backward, Vi narrowly escaped a second kick as she shot to her feet. Grabbing his leg, Vi slammed her elbow into his patella as Dogberry let out a howl of pain. Fluidly with the opposite elbow, Vi jabbed the man directly in his temple.
He crumpled like those puppets in the traveling shows whose strings were cut.
Nearly dropping to her knees, Vi raised a fist as she let out a guttural, victorious roar. She gasped, catching her breath as the familiar wave of adrenaline washed over her. Her legs began to shudder as she crossed the pit to the drink on the wall, already poured for her.
From the corner of her eye, a figure watching her from the shadows caught Vi’s gaze. Fair skin, long dark hair pulled back in a grabbable ponytail, the sluttiest fucking waist the boxer had ever seen, and sharp eyes that seemed to follow her every move. The woman — clearly out of place in her finely tailored clothes — made Vi’s pulse quicken and her hand shake as she raised the glass to her lips.
The crowd was still baying waves that washed over her, but Vi couldn’t shift her attention from the stranger. ‘Fuck it,’ Vi reasoned, as she found herself nodding toward a secluded booth in the corner, her invitation clear.
To her surprise, the raven-haired woman cocked her head slightly and nodded, following Vi to her usual post-match seat. The orange lightbulb hanging precariously above the table helped to settle the epinephrine coursing through her throbbing veins. Sliding across the cracking red leather, Vi relaxed into the familiar seat, well shaped to her ass after years of bumming it after fights. She raised two fingers to catch the barmaid, Genie’s, attention. The bronze-skinned, shapely woman nodded in recognition before returning to her present custom.
Vi looked back just as the stranger appeared in the warm glow, ‘ by the gods, she’s tall…’
Vi felt her pulse quicken again, calming light be damned. ‘ That woman has to be around 180 centimeters tall. ’
Silently, the tall stranger lowered herself onto the seat, sliding her much-too-warm coat in before her. She met her eyes — Vi didn’t think she had ever seen eyes so deep before. Powder, Vi’s little sister, had blue eyes — but hers were sky blue. The woman sitting in front of Vi was blessed with eyes the shade of fresh azurite. Vi remembered her mother bringing a chip of the gem home from the Fissures one day — Powder had kept holding it up to her eyes and hair. It was probably somewhere in the ruins of their old place, 'like so much else'.
Vi bit back a bitter smile at the memory — when she realized she hadn't said anything at all. Neither had the woman sat before her, but it was Vi who invited her.
“Hiya, what can I get for you?”
‘Thank the gods for Genie’
“Hey Genie, I'll grab my usual.” Vi looked at the woman, nodding toward Genie.
“O-Oh, um, I guess anything sweeter than what Babette has in her office? Please… Thank you.” The woman spoke in a high Piltovan accent, ‘Odd…’ However, she looked into Genie’s eyes and there wasn’t a hint of smugness. Vi laughed at the comment, Genie too — Babette insisted that her spiced liquor concoction was delicious, and always poured a glass for new guests. The operative word in that sentence being ‘new’, as no returning customers would ever again accept the drink.
“No worries, Hon. We’ve got a few sweeter Noxian brews and some cocktails.”
“A sweet brew sounds wonderful, thank you very much.” The woman said with a grateful, relieved sigh. Turning back to Vi, she cocked her head and traced a knot in the wooden table. “The way you fight is very… well practiced. Almost like you're on a stage down there.” Vi’s brow twitched, and she smiled slightly, something soft. She was grateful that the woman had broken the ice.
“All the world's a stage, and all the men and women are merely players,” Reaching into her pocket, Vi grabbed a cigarette and offered a smoke to the woman across from her. With a slight dip of her chin, the woman accepted. Vi lifted an eyebrow in surprise, then lit two at once, flipping one around and handing it to the stranger.
“So,” the pit fighter exhaled through her nose, reveling in the slight burn and familiar taste. “What can I do for you, Cupcake?”