Piltover's Finest: The Adventures of Caitlyn and Vi
By Mr Bugbear
Summary: After a well-known Piltover statesman is found murdered in his own home, Caitlyn and Vi are called in to assist with the investigation. But appearances can be deceiving, and as the duo begin to unravel the murder mystery, they discover that even the City of Progress has its own dark secrets to hide.
Author's Notes: Caitlyn and Vi are two of my favorite characters in League of Legends, and I've always thought their personalities would make for interesting dynamics in how they partner up to fight crime. This story is my attempt to develop a sort of "origins" story for how Caitlyn and Vi winded up being the dynamic duo, prior to them joining the League of Legends. As a result, the scope of this story is mainly about their adventures in the city of Piltover prior to them becoming League champions.
I think it's important to emphasize that my story occurs canonically before Caitlyn/Vi's inductions into the League, so if you want a story about Caitlyn and Vi smashing faces on Summoner's Rift, this isn't what you're looking for. I will focus heavily on Caitlyn, Vi, and Jayce in this story, and hopefully flesh out their relationships and backgrounds. A couple other League champions make their appearances in this story, but for all intents and purposes, the primary focus is on the aforementioned characters.
Feedback is much appreciated, since this is my first League of Legends fanfic. As always, read, review, and enjoy!
Prologue
The onyx brooch felt heavy in Evaine Leblanc's hands, as if the burdens of all its previous owners were somehow manifested in its weight. It was a curious trinket, colored black as night and delicately carved into the shape of a single, beautiful rose. Over the years, knowledge of its existence had slowly faded from the outside world, until only those of her order would recognize what it symbolized. There was no other relic like it in Runeterra; master-crafted and ensorcelled with powerful magic, it was an artifact from ages past, created long before even the city-states of Noxus and Demacia had been founded. It represented both her order and her station, for there was no greater power in the Black Rose than that of its Matron.
Unfortunately, there existed fools who had forgotten that, LeBlanc thought privately, fools who would seek to oppose the very Matron to whom they swore fealty. She closed her fist tightly around the onyx brooch, feeling savage pleasure in the way its tiny thorns bit into the flesh of her palm.
A weak cough interrupted her thoughts; turning, LeBlanc gazed down upon the bound woman that lay limply on the floor. She was elderly, with graying hair and faded eyes, and yet, she was the lynchpin upon which LeBlanc's plan would succeed.
"Wh… where are we?" the woman asked weakly, struggling half-heartedly against her restraints. "Who are you?"
LeBlanc strode towards the woman, her heels clicking loudly on the hard wooden floor. "Do you not recognize your surroundings? We are in your own residence. The parlor, to be exact." She paused, stooping down so that she could talk to the other woman at eye level. There was fear in her eyes, something which LeBlanc liked. "As for who I am? You may call me Evaine."
"Evaine…" the other woman wheezed softly. LeBlanc nodded in satisfaction, standing back up and continuing her leisurely walk around the room.
"What do you want from me? Money? Jewelry? They're yours. Take them."
LeBlanc smiled widely, regarding the older woman in an almost pitying manner. "I do not want anything from you, woman. You have nothing to give me that could possibly save you now."
The other woman's eyes widened in fear. "You… you're going to kill me?"
"In a manner of speaking." LeBlanc picked up the ornate dagger that lay on the dining room table, feeling its weight in her hand, watching the light reflect off of the blade's polished surface.
The other woman recoiled as LeBlanc approached, scuttling backwards like a crab until she was backed up against the wall. "No," she kept moaning, tears streaming down her cheeks, "no, no…"
"Hush," LeBlanc said almost soothingly, cradling the old woman's face in one hand like a lover. With her other hand, she brought the dagger down. She waited patiently until the woman's final death throes had ended before removing the blood-soaked dagger from the woman's corpse.
She had done this a hundred times, and yet, it still felt completely new to her. Each person had their own imprint, their own special mannerisms and personas, which made the process unique to each individual. LeBlanc positioned herself in front of a mirror, gazing at her reflection. Some might describe her as beautiful, with flawless porcelain skin and vivid violet eyes, but they would be describing LeBlanc, not Evaine. She had not seen Evaine in many years, not since she had become the Black Rose's Matron. She brought the dagger to her mouth, licked off a small portion of the woman's blood, and uttered the incantation. Then she closed her eyes and waited.
After several minutes had passed in silence, she finally opened her eyes. The face staring back at her in the mirror was no longer that of LeBlanc's, but of the old woman's. Her violet eyes and lustrous hair now appeared faded and gray. When she waved her hand in front of her face, she saw the same perfect, porcelain skin; but in the mirror, her hand was wrinkled and gnarled from age.
She smiled, and the old woman in the mirror smiled back.