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She only ever wears her Commander uniform now, whenever she goes to any of the Piltover functions.
Before, when her mother was alive, she'd follow in tow, much reluctantly, most of the time, huffing at the frilly dresses and pins in her hair and the makeup and the jewelry she was instructed to wear. The guests would murmur and whisper as she walked by, oh how lovely the young Caitlyn looks and isn't she just a picture of her mother, the elegance and poise of her... oh what a lovely young woman she is growing up to be.
Today, the crowd splits down the middle, the murmurs hushed, but all eyes still on her. The lovely young Caitlyn, the head of the Council, a Commander, and the leader of the great house Kiramann walks into the room at the last Piltover gala of the year, a celebration of the year passed and introduction into the new. Glasses are raised as she walks by.
The admiration is still there on their faces, but different now. They can all see the young woman they’ve watched for years scurrying after her parents, smiling awkwardly at the guests and she is not the same.
Stormy dark eyes, sharp jaw. No frills, no jewels. She wears heavy boots and high officer's collar now. The picture of her mother, as they’ve said, no nonsense of the generations of Kiramann women bursting out of her. They have no idea how broken she is on the inside.
Every morning, officer Steb comes into her office with a stack of files and reports for her to look over and sign. She sighs and he gives her a little smile while he gently places the documents in front of her.
‘Seems like they are getting bigger and bigger every day.’ She says while eying the pile, and he nods.
‘Also, this, ma'am.’ Steb produces another piece of paper from inside his jacked and hands it to Caitlyn.
She reaches out for it and instantly feels her throat dry out and her breath hitch. The fingers holding the flyer tremble slightly.
‘She won, ma’am.’ He says quietly, ‘If it means anything. She wins them every time.’
Caitlyn ignores this informational addition with a sobering shake of her head. ‘Any arrests?’
‘Five so far. Nothing serious. Drunk and disorderly, public disturbance, insulting of the enforcers… I took care of all of them personally.’
‘Thank you, Steb. I know it’s not your job-’
He tilts his chin up slightly, ‘Do not mention it, ma’am. It is hardly any trouble at all.’
Her eyes give him a silent thank you before he salutes and marches back out again. She crumples the paper in her fist, crushing it until her hand cramps up. Her breath becomes a quiver before she scoffs and quietly reprimands herself. ‘Compose yourself, Kiramann!’
Maybe she does it because it’s the wrong thing to do. Maybe it’s because she needs to feel a different type of shame than the one she already feels when she looks into the mirror and sees the woman who’s stomped on all of her I-would-nevers on her way to all this virtue they are bestowing now upon her. The destruction is boiling up inside of her and it is slowly spilling out. With every glance, each time a little bit more. She fights it, knows she shouldn’t do it. She will regret it, as soon as it happens, and it does.
Officer Nolen is young. Her eyes are bright and her smile is full of joy. She sees her too often now, right outside of the gates to Kiramann manor where she has been posted as an assistant to the security detail. She stands up straight as an arrow and salutes Caitlyn with chest forward and chin up high every time. And every time, Caitlyn briskly nods, walks up the stairs and doesn’t look back. She does however manage to catch a poorly disguised shuffle right before the door closes behind her, the sound of other guards goading Nolen because of the blush the young policewoman develops with their each short exchange. Nolen is nervous around her, Caitlyn can tell.
And then one day she just isn’t. She struts into Caitlyn’s office after a quick knock, files in hand, salutes with eyes firmly on a spot somewhere just above her commander’s head and plants in place.
‘Ma’am.’ Her voice rings in the big room.
‘Steb?’ Caitlyn just raises an eyebrow.
Nolen’s eyes are still focused on the far wall. ‘Promotion, ma’am. He’s at the Hexgates as of today. I’ll be delivering your correspondence from now on.’
Caitlyn humms; she signed that promotion last week. She must have forgotten that. Has she forgotten that?
‘Anything pressing, officer…?’
‘Nolen, ma’am.’ Still with the no eye contact. ‘Maddie Nolen.’
Caitlyn leans back in her chair and laces fingers against her abdomen. She knows the young woman’s name. Another promotion she signed. Her hair is shorter than the last time she saw her, though.
‘Right. You were part of my security detail at the manor.’
And there. Maddie Nolen’s eyes snap onto hers. She takes a few steps forward, places the files neatly onto the desk and stands back upright, chest forward. ‘Nothing pressing, ma’am. Just the usual.’ Caitlyn smiles. Officer Nolen smiles back.
Steb’s got other responsibilities now but he still reports back. He is loyal and only one she can trust. Bar brawl. Trespassing. Threatening an enforcer with a broken bottle. With each count Caitlyn’s jaw tightens harder and fists ball up more. She still fights. She wins. She is glorified. She lives in a slum. Has one friend. She isn’t seeing anyone.
The hours are a murder for her body and her mind. She forgets to eat most of the days and doesn’t if she’s not reminded of the dinner that has grown cold on the cart. Sometimes she wakes up in a pile of papers on her office desk to the sound of a coffee mug being placed against the hard surface.
‘What time is it?’ Caitlyn grumbles out.
Officer Nolen looks down at her watch. ‘Just after midnight, ma’am.’
‘What are you still doing here, Nolen?’
‘Just in case you needed anything, ma’am.’
Caitlyn looks at her. Shadows fall around the officer’s face in weird patterns from the fire still burning in the fireplace. A patch of hair falls and covers a side of her face in an unusual way; it never did that before, Caitlyn notices.
‘Good.’ Caitlyn says. ‘Stay.’
Maddie. Maddie, goddamnit. Maddie.
She either doesn’t care or she is very good at hiding that it hurts every time Caitlyn says the wrong name. After a while Caitlyn stops caring as well. What matters is how it feels with eyes closed, with no talking, with only streetlight coming in from the window. Caitlyn pulls on the short hair, right at the back of Maddie’s head and then swaths a hand away when Maddie tries to touch her face. She guides Maddie’s hand lower, down to her throat and blindly instructs: here. Maddie squeezes, gently at first, and as her hair gets pulled harder, she presses on, herself.
Bar brawl. Damage to public property. Resisting arrest.
‘Ma’am,’ Steb says quietly, stepping into her space with deference, ‘forgive me for speaking out of turn, but I have to warn you-’
She knows of the rumors, she’s heard them being spoken in hushed voices of the Piltover’s nobles. Is it exactly what she wanted? Is that the kind of defamation she sought for the vileness she actually wishes to erase from her mind?
‘Thank you, Steb.’ She squeezes his forearm reassuringly. ‘Let them talk.’ And then, just as he nods and attempts to leave her side: ‘Anything of Violet?’
His lips press into a thin line. ‘She is not winning any fights anymore, ma’am.’
The end.