Chapter Text
Buzzing lights and crowded rooms are never comfortable for Caitlyn Kiramman. Her pack and friends have known this as long as they’ve known her, and she usually avoided either of such things whenever possible. Especially in tandem.
It was early morning at the precinct, headquarters of Piltover’s enforcers. They were all summoned together for the biyearly reassignment of positions, so unfortunately Caitlyn’s presence in such a tortuous room was mandatory. Such things were inevitable. But all she could think about was the man sitting in a group two rows ahead of her, who had clearly skipped his daily shower. And perhaps his weekly shower.
Chattering fills the rather large room, and everyone from every shift, save for what is necessary to keep the city operational, was buzzing with excitement and dread at the long awaited and sorely needed change. This would be Caitlyn’s second reassignment. After her junior posting in the Council Building (Thanks, Mother), she had been excited when she heard that she’d be a beat cop once that ‘Junior’ dropped off her record. She convinced, well, threatened her mother not to intervene that time, and continued that tradition this time around.
Cait knows that she hasn’t been around long enough for the detective position she covets and aspires towards, but if she’s left to direct visitors around the Council Building again, or forced to corral drunkards and write parking tickets, she might burst a blood vessel.
It wasn’t up to her, though, so here she was sitting behind that stinking, hygienically challenged man, waiting to be told what unfortunate duty would define the next two years of her professional life.
Sheriff Marcus’ assistant, a small and mousy woman, scurries into the room with a stack of assignment papers clutched in her thin arms. A hush quickly sweeps over the room, and Caitlyn’s very particular sense of smell catches the scent of her coworkers simmering down from arrogant excitement to quiet anxiety. She isn’t unique at all when it came to nervousness, and knowledge of what these changes could entail.
“Good morning everyone,” squeaks the assistant, Miss Melody, or maybe Melanie. With how little she visits Marcus, she was rarely confronted with knowledge of the woman outside of the secondhand. The rooms of cops, from meter maids to detectives alike murmurs back polite but tired responses. They were gentlemen, allegedly, and besides, Miss Maryann(?) brought amazing coffee for the downstairs coffee station.
“I hope you all had a good new year’s; I’ll try to keep this brief in the interest of respecting your time,” she looks around, all customers-service smiles, and nods, “Right, then, first as always, Senior Detective Aarthren your request for a transfer from homicide to vice has been approved.”
And like that they were off, sorted first by rank and then alphabetically when announcing assignments. Caitlyn internally groans, what around here wasn’t based on seniority? She figures it’d be easier to only go alphabetically, but that was probably the spoiled brat in her being upset at how long she’d be waiting due to her low rank. She was better than that, though. So, she smooths out some errant wrinkles in her uniform trousers, straightens her back a little more, and waits.
❇
“Correctional Officer?” Caitlyn’s accent lilts as she speaks, a mild sound of disbelief and maybe some disgust coloring her tone.
“It isn’t the end of the world,” one of her coworkers, a tall beta werewolf from her graduating class attempts to comfort, “I was on correctional for my first assignment, and it isn’t as bad as you think. You just have to distance yourself, and it’ll be over before you know it.” he smiles at her, fangs glittering. The beta places what he must think is a comforting hand on her shoulder, but her nose just wrinkles at the sour scent that he leaves behind when he goes to find his own posting.
“Yeah…” Caitlyn sighs, and adjusts her uniform, “Not so bad, it’ll go quick.”
The ride over to Stillwater hold was surprisingly boisterous, about 20 of her fellow transfers in the car with her excitedly whispering about what they expected it would be like. Caitlyn wasn’t alone in never having been before, most people hadn’t. But, she had read in her many novels of ill repute about riots, gang violence, and enforcers being taken as hostages. Usually those events were followed by less appropriate scenes, but her guard was up regardless of what awaited her.
When the tram’s gears locked into the landing platform, and the doors opened, Caitlyn was first out. Even if this assignment wasn’t her first pick, and honestly what was, she still wants to make a good first impression to whoever her superiors here would be. She just had to ignore the scoffing behind her calling her a kiss-ass.
“Hello, and welcome to Stillwater. I am Captain Bellworthy and I will be in charge of you during your training.” a short, ambiguous smelling man in a… comfortably worn captain’s uniform announces to them. He was maybe in his mid-50’s, but his hairline easily said 60’s.
“None of you should be Junior Officers, but mistakes can be made. So, if you are, please head back to H.Q. and we’ll be jealous of wherever you end up.” the Captain begins to laugh at his own subpar joke, stomach shaking with wheezes. The best the crowd around her could offer was a quiet snicker and relating nods, trying to please the man without seeming obvious.
Bellworthy sighs, shrugging, “Tough crowd.” He turns and faces the front doors, leading them in, “So, our shifts are a bit different here. You work four days on, three days off, three days on, four days off, rinse and repeat. Twelve hour shifts a day, and you’ll sleep in the dorms here during your ‘on’ days.” The previously jovial man, resembling any grandfather from a film, was now frightfully serious. His posture is straight, and his tone is almost threatening.
“Any question?” Captain stops at the door and begins to fumble with his keyring, looking over his shoulder at them to speak.
“Yes, actually I-” a lithe, pretty girl behind Caitlyn starts before being interrupted.
“Good.” Bellworthy answers with finality, pushing the doors open and motioning for the transfers to walk in.
❇
Stillwater was somehow exactly what Caitlyn expected, and nothing like what she expected. Expected, in the worn down furniture, the cold, damp rooms, and the low light to accommodate a majority vampire population. But, unexpected in that the inmates didn’t seem to care about them at all. There were probably more signs than guards, warning the prisoners and guards not to touch, to stay apart, that fraternization between them was frowned upon and could result in sentence extensions. The posters seemed to be more aimed at the guards than the prisoners, which struck Caitlyn as odd.
When they walk through the mess hall, it was midday if the small barred windows were any indication. The large room was already filled with people and what maybe could be legally considered food. The inmates barely spared any glances, joined in groups and chatting loudly amongst themselves. There were in progress card games, arm wrestling matches, and even a couple board games.
Caitlyn couldn’t even conceive of the tavern-like scene in front of her, the joy amongst the prisoners obvious, she was too busy clutching her nose and mouth. The smell of the hundreds of barely washed, unsuppressed, and sweaty people had her debating if she could make a run for the staff bathroom before her guts surely spilt. It was all so overstimulating, and whatever person in admin assigned her here was on her shit list now. Even if she didn’t know who they were.
“This is the mess hall, they take lunch and dinner here at 1200 hours and 1800 hours respectively.” If Bellworthy noticed Caitlyn’s distress, he didn’t say a word. He walked them out through a doorway flanked by two werewolf guards, one of which was smirking at Cait’s distress.
Cait’s hypothetical shitlist was getting longer by the minute.
❇
Their tour ends in the armory, being told about the gear they’ll carry on shift. Caitlyn’s eyes glazed over nearly an hour ago, far too worn out from the constant assault on her senses to bother listening to the explanation about batons and handcuffs.
“And that concludes our tour. Gosh I’m so excited to work with all of you fresh faces,” Bellworthy melted back to his softer self, the more serious guard-sona gone once his duties ended, “I’ll walk you back up to the tram, and then you’ll be on your own to get home.”
Caitlyn is incredibly pleased, she’s itching to wash off the smell of this place and lay in her bed, maybe even shift if she can find the time or the excuse.
When she does indeed get home, her parents are already in bed, and the manor is dark. Caitlyn doesn’t think she could muster up the words for a conversation anyways, so the silent walk to her room is appreciated.
The second the door is closed and locked, she starts dropping pieces of her uniform on the ground and making her way to her en suite. Caitlyn’s tail, something she could never manage to shift back away once she presented at the beginning of puberty, started to wag when she walked into the scalding water. If Caitlyn could, she thinks she’d be purring.
She picks up her carefully organized soaps in order and scrubs herself down, cleaning herself of the hundreds of new and strange scents she’d encountered during her day. Sure her own scent was muted and plain thanks to the medication she took to suppress her ruts, but that didn't mean she was eager to replace it with the scent of others. She likes her own milky, almost pup-like scent, and the only scent she could maybe abide sometimes was the nearly indistinguishable scent of her parents.
Crawling into bed, she moisturizes her freshly shaved body with honey and violet lotion, the windows wide open to the view of her nakedness. An ex-girlfriend she’d mistakenly dated once called her an exhibitionist, but really the moon was just an old friend to her, and bathing in its light in the dark and the silence like this was meditative for her. Sleep comes quick and easy for her, and she dreams of garden beds and iron bars.
❇
Her first day after finishing training was tiring thus far. Her weeks at the precinct, reviewing procedures and protocols and rules, in addition to tactical training and simulations, sure did prepare her for front desk duty. Caitlyn doesn’t mind, sitting behind the tall bureau that she could barely see over and signing visitors in and out and validating community service hours. It’s mostly quiet though, and she took the initiative earlier that morning to put some mint scented balm under her nose to distract from whatever assault would potentially face her olfactory system.
After the inmates’ lunch, which she was unfortunately asked to attend, she was back at her desk and was quickly greeted by a short girl. Maybe 5’3”, her head barely popped up over the edge of the desk, and when it did it was a puff of blue hair descending into braids down her back. Curiouser, the girl (woman?) has a small child on her hip, who she doesn’t nearly look old enough to be the parent of.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” Caitlyn asks with unease. She doesn’t even know if kids were allowed here, but the way the blue haired woman was leaning against the desk casually to support her weight indicated she was more comfortable here and seemingly more familiar with the place than Caitlyn was, so she doesn’t question it.
“I’m not a ma’am.” The woman scoffs in what is clearly a Zaun accent, “Inmate 516.”
“Exists, surely. You haven’t said why you’re here.” Caitlyn was doing her damnedest to come off as intimidating, “I don’t think you’re allowed to have your daughter here.”
The woman’s tone only gets more sour, “No one’s stopped me before. I’m here to visit, it’s visiting hours. Who else would come to this hell hole?” The roll of her eyes she gives Caitlyn isn’t giving her points on age, and her estimated age is only dropping.
“Right,” Caitlyn reached for the visitor’s log, and the roll of sticky name tags they kept for visitors, “Fill this out, one row for each of you, please. What are your names?” she relaxed only a little, falling back into her prescribed script for the situation. She sat tall, waiting with a poised pen over the tags.
Only then did the woman put down her daughter, even if the girl quickly clung to her leg and made an open-mouthed whining noise. “Powder,” she points the pen at herself, not looking up from the form, “Isha.” She then points the pen down briefly, this ‘Isha’ actively trying to climb up Powder’s side.
Caitlyn decides against commenting on the odd names, lest she offend the Zaunites unknowingly, “Right. Wear your name tags at all times, no touching the inmate, and stay within the allowed zones." She offers a map alongside the tags, which isn’t accepted. It isn’t Caitlyn’s business if they take it or not. “You have 30 minutes once the inmate arrives.”
The enforcer doesn’t receive any confirmation of being heard at all, Powder just quietly chats to her daughter while applying both of their name tags. Cait feels awkward continuing to stare, so she leans over to her intercom and hits the button that’ll connect her to the guard on 516’s block. “Please send Inmate 516 to the visitor’s hall, thank you.” She sounded like a damn chirping bird, and mentally facepalms at her stupid pandering.
❇
Powder is smoothing down Isha’s cute little visiting dress when Vi comes through the door, cuffed and muzzled like some kind of animal. It always makes her blood boil and explaining it to Isha the first time she’d asked had broken Powder’s heart a little.
Her smile starts to creep up as one cuff is transferred to the table so Vi can pick the phone up, “Hey brat, how’s my favorite girl?” Vi asked in that smooth voice that apparently got her hella bitches, if Powder believed that.
“I’m fine, how are you?” Powder asks in polite return, voice sounding more strained and concerned that she meant it to. She sees the way Vi was rolling her shoulder like she’s been fighting recently, and the scabbed cuff marks on her wrists. Even with the playful animosity that defines their relationship, Powder can’t hide her genuine care for her sister.
Vi’s little smirk turns into a true Cheshire grin at Powder’s response, “I don’t mean you, I mean my favorite niece. Put her on.”
Powder rolls her eyes so hard she's worried she’ll see the bright future everyone was warning her about. She murmurs something about how Isha is her only niece while she puts the phone to her bouncing kid’s ear.
“Ohhh my favorite girl,” Vi coos like Isha’s still a baby, making the 7-year-old giggle, “I missed you so much, I thought you said you’d make the trip more!”
Isha’s laughs at her aunt’s teasing only got louder as they went on, earning a glare from the guard at the door Powder came through originally. She let the two of them talk, a sloppy mix of sign language and spoken word that barely makes sense to anyone outside of their family. But, they are on a time limit, so Powder is forced to take the phone back after too long.
“She really does miss you.” Powder murmurs, holding Isha’s hand as it’s immediately reached for, “She was telling her teachers at school about you–her aunt with the pretty hair and the picture skin.”
Vi makes a sound like she’s been wounded, and clutches her slow beating heart with the hand that isn’t cuffed to the table, “Can’t say shit like that, Pow. You’re gonna make me sentimental.”
“Too late, you’re a sap through and through.” Powder grinned, “Ekko was interviewing with that mechanic that I mentioned, and he said it went really well. Hopefully we can save up soon for a lawyer, okay?” Powder’s tone was so soft, and so tender, and she hates how much like a child she sounds.
Vi’s face drops as soon as she processes what Powder says. She leans back as far as she can in her chair before her wrist starts to ache, starting to shut down. “Pow, I don’t wanna talk about this, let me just enjoy seeing you and Isha.” she mumbles out.
Powder has been saving, scrounging together coins for years now to attempt to get her sister out of jail, but every time she tries to get Vi excited, to get her to strategize, she just blanks. Powder didn’t want this to turn into another screaming match, ending up with her leaving their very short time together early.
When Isha paws for the phone in the uncomfortable silence, Powder lets her have it. Once she starts signing a smile comes back to Vi’s face, and Powder is content to let the two of them shoot the shit for the rest of their time. The guard coming to take Vi back to her cell sours everything once again, and Powder doesn’t get the chance to say goodbye while she’s ushered out to the lobby. Out in front of that bratty, prim Piltie who doesn’t even spare a glance when she comes out with a whining and gesturing Isha. Well, that went well.
❇
Caitlyn does genuinely feel bad. Powder looks near tears, and her child just looks disappointed. Cait can’t imagine only getting to see her loved one for thirty minutes a day.
Getting to her assigned dorm for the night doesn’t include as much crashing as her first day on this rotation did, but she’s still incredibly tired and drained of spoons. There's no room to run or any tub to soak in either, which just makes it worse to boot.
The mattress creaks in protest when she crawls into it. Cait’s stripped naked beneath the sheets, and once she’s as comfortable as she can get, she begins to shift. It might look painful to people who don’t change like this, but the cracking of bones and popping of joints was a comfort by now. Sore, since she did it so often, but no pain. Not anymore.
Once her fur knits together and her tendons reform into something new and stronger, she’s able to feel herself relax more fully. The sounds of her coworkers in their own rooms were amplified, and the scent of strangers clings to her uniform that is yet again discarded on the floor. Caitlyn doesn’t care, her tail’s nearly launched her lush blanket from home onto the ground with its wagging. Her mother always warned her off this, of letting herself indulge meaninglessly. ‘Baser instincts, they aren’t becoming of a Kiramman. We’re better than that’ Cassandra would tut at her, her own tail never making a stray appearance.
It took a while to adjust to her changed senses, the difference in colors, but once she did she lept from her bed and started to pace about her room. She isn’t sure how she plans to survive this, spending days on end cooped up like a cushy housecat, but she would have to figure something out. Failure wasn’t an option. It’d go quickly, she reminded herself of her coworker’s assurance.
❇
The moment she got back to her cell after dinner, Vi was crawling into bed and under her blanket, shoes and all. The teasing, and that is what it was, teasing, from her sister drove her mad. She wouldn’t get out of here, and every time Powder brings it up and jerks her heart around, she loses it just a little more. Vi doesn’t get the change to ruminate for much longer, because she feels the warm arms of her bunkie wrapping around her.
Her and Sabine aren’t anything real, not like how some people find their soulmates in this forsaken place. But they both had a sixth sense for when the other needed to be held, and the touch against her stomach when Sabine tightens her arms is enough to keep her grounded.
“Hey.” the other woman’s soft voice said, not demanding anything out of Vi.
“Hi.” Vi responds in kind, too emotionally strung out to make polite conversation. They never speak much anyways. Vi sits up only long enough to take off her uniform top and reveal her prison-issue sports bra, and then she’s laying back down in waiting arms, enjoying the heat.
The funny thing about surviving off of someone else's blood like the two of them did, was it did a horrible job keeping you warm. Vi read about it once before she was in here, something about energy transfer and cell decay. Her face buried in Sabine’s chest and their legs tangled together initiates the lovely feedback loop that keeps both of them warmer than either of them can manage individually. Sabine relaxes quickly when she realizes Vi isn’t going to do anything more for the night, and the two of them don’t find trouble marinating in the silence until they drift off.
