2:12am Initiate manual Black Box Recording.
I don't fidget
Mother and father raised me better.
Taught to not play with the hems of my skirts, cross legs at the ankles, take sips and smile. They taught me to hide my piercing gaze behind slight nods and polite laughter, a proper lady at the front but a cobra ready to strike underneath. It was the game of the Uppercity they prepared me for.
Poised
Prepared
Manners
Menacing
A sigh, the thought of father, what he did that day. The courts did not even bother with his "case". Shame.
Fingers twiddle and dance around the warm porcelain cup.
Cupcakes, 28 minutes to bake, kitchen is cleaned, reports filed. Nothing left, could clean other parts of flat. Invest energy into more productive actions. I would be a hypocrite.
Vi
Again in my mind. It would do well of her to clean up that flat of hers. Every time I suggest it, she brushes it off and I half expect it to be cleaned the next time I visit; full of surprises after all.
Disappointment
But she is a variable
Unpredictable
Perhaps don't try
Don't try to predict her.
an odd...thought?
Why would the Black Box suggest the thought?
Learning how you, I, we think. Humans are random, random with a pattern that you, I, we can see.
So how is she different from humans?
Think.
Of course, she is different.
You, I, we care about her, that's what truly makes her different from the rest.
She is not a game, not a statistic, not a number. A human being, oh so human.
Realization
I treat those around me like pawns because, in the scheme of the Uppercity, we are pawns for those above us. Find out who you are a pawn for, surpass them, public humiliation has always been a favorite. Master the game.
However, she refuses to play, and thus, there is no rulebook for her. So logically.
Emotionally
Understand, but do not predict. Prepare, do not dictate. A delicate balance with blurred lines.
I treated her just like the scientists treated her back in Zaun; an experiment with predicted paths and nothing more.
My mistake
"You gotta learn to roll with the punches, Cupcake."
I'm sorry
"Where are we?"
Voices outside the door, loud stumbling.
"Hey Hat-lady! Special delivery for you!"
Jinx and…
"Cait's flat, you fucking dragged me to Cait's flat?!"
Vi?
"Yeah and ya gonna thank me later, Pinky. But now, open up or this door is going down!"
Shrill and peachy as always. Quick glance, it's 2:21am sound proofing is decent, neighbors probably not disturbed too much.
Rapid thumping of the door with a sudden stop. Jinx wouldn't relent-
"Stop it, Bluey, she's probably not home. Not that she'd want to see me anyways."
Chest constricts. She sounds sad, defeated, remorseful.
Hold her, assure her, comfort her.
"Watch who you're calling blue you sack of raisins!"
"That doesn't even make sense!"
"Sack of raisins!"
Amusing banter, surprising Jinx made it this far into the city without sirens blaring. She would have been immediately recognized at the teleportation station. How?
Pause
Jinx, new addition to the league. Already strained relations due to events in Piltover. Perhaps the trigger for Vi's relapse. Surely can't be that simple, Vi has stared down many enemies, what makes Jinx different.
Jinx
Jessie?
Connection?
They don't even notice when I open the door.
Vi's arm is draped over the gunner's shoulders. She tries to put as little weight as she can on the lithe girl but it is obvious she still needs help standing up. No evidence of injury-
Two pairs of brightly glowing eyes.
They look so alike, not physically, but their eyes reflect the same emotions. Despair veiled with humor, a desperate attempt to hang onto sanity. Both broken and searching.
"See, told you she was in there."
Vi stares blankly, not quite at me, darting eyes, nervous, brows furrowed. She grapples for words.
"Good evening Sheriff."
It is strained, but a commendable effort. Even in this state, she remembers what I told her, though it was cold. She is trying so hard to please. She wants to be taken back.
It should be me
I invite the two of them in to which Vi hesitates and Jinx simply guffaws. Thin arms shove her forward with surprising force. Vi's warm body tumbles in, arms shoot out and brace her. It takes a moment, but she still refuses to meet my gaze, whispers of an apology fall from her lips and she walks past.
Sound of a dining room chair being slide out.
Jinx shoves something cool and smooth into my hands. It's a bottle and a plastic eyedropper.
Brilliance
Look back up, she is already down the hall, the fire escape wide open.
"I've got better things to do than to hang out with losers like you two"
Unsure whether she understands the situation or she really means what she says. She steps up, winter in Piltover is colder than that at the institute. Northern winds tousle her hair.
"Smell you two never!"
Down she plunges, no doubt she'll be uninjured and somehow wreaking havoc in a moment. Her humor, mannerisms, large grin. Is she the other survivor of the fire? What is she to Vi? Cut from the same cloth.
Door shuts, turn back, she sits slumped in the chair. Eyes fixated on her fiddling hands. The once filled tea cup is now empty.
She is thirsty.
The smell of sunflowers, once I thought was so pleasant, now burns.
Stomach churns. What should I say, does she know how I feel, how would I even start to explain-
"Look, I'll be leaving. I know what you're thinking; you told me to get clean and here I am blind as a mole."
She rises to leave.
Stop her
Heart thumps, panic, almost a whimper. too eager, too fast and improper. Mother with disapprove. She doesn't matter right now. It is the woman in my flat matters, the woman trying to push past me, the woman that is tugging oh so harshly at my heart strings.
She matters
Stop her.
Her hands are hot to the touch, or perhaps mine are cold. They stiffens and instinctively curl around mine.
Eyes full of confusion, hope, sadness, so bright yet cloudy. Fear, glowing, twinkling. So far gone.
"Please stay." Throat is tight, words barely make it out. My eyes, full of confusion, hope, sadness.
Time passes with her halfway out the door. The grip she has is loose, frail, but the word would never be used to describe her. Not to her ears. Wordless moments pass of simply staring. I do not know exactly what brilliance does to the mind,
a hallucinogenic, relaxant, energizer, pleasure enhancer
but she looks lost and searching. For what?
lungs burn. Am I holding my breath?
Wordless
Searching for forgiveness
Moments
Thumb brushes against back of hand. The gesture is soft, fluttering, questioning. Gentle.
Pulled forward, strong arms encase my waist. A wet huffing face burrows into my shoulder. Her back shudders and shake. Lips chant, tongue stumbles over teeth. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry" over and over.
My checks are warms and wet. Lips tremble and and struggle to mirror her words.
The oven chimes, the cupcakes are finished. They will overcook if left in too long. Hard work wasted.
If I let go, even more hard work wasted.
Hold on tighter
Fight
The relief is overwhelming. Blubbered words of apologies, of realized mistakes and regrets. Vows of change, to work towards it together. I stop her. Not matter what, change will come when she is ready. Hold her hand, help her turn the page when she decides it is time to move forward. Do not force her, support.
Understand what makes her tick
"You should grab them before the burn." A light hearted murmur, shaking has stopped, still holds tight. She expected, perhaps glanced at the oven or already presumed I would be baking. She knows what I do to calm myself.
A smile
Embrace is released, she places the tea cup on the counter, turning to boil water for tea. Grip is surprisingly tight around the oven door handle. Fear wells up, dread, conviction.
I need to tell her
She deserves to know, yes, confess, weight on my chest is suffocating.
A different glass of water
Guilt
Glance, over, she is filling the pot with water. Grab her hand, puzzled look, slightly fearful. Too late to back out.
What to say, how to say it?
Don't think
Roll with the punches
I whisper her name, the faucet turns off, lead her back to the table. Take a seat, hands still entangled. I can't stand her questioning gaze that passes no judgement, opened fully and ready to listen. But blank and haunting, does she realize that she looks like a ghost. Does she even realize the weight of what I am about to confess. Perhaps she won't underst-
No, stop, tell her
How do I tell her this secret.
That all this began with a selfish wish
That I planned to use her as leverage for gaining support
That at first I planned to simply lead her on and when I got what I wanted
Planned to push her to the back burner
None of this was supposed to happen
A game
Cogs, how do I tell her
It doesn't really matter, does it? it ended well, whatever the intention, it's just fine. I don't have to-
No
No
Stop running
Trust is a two way street
Thick skinned hands, hot to the touch, so strong yet they cradle mine so gently. She knows that I have something to tell her, she understands that I do not normally stumble over words.
She is concerned, rightfully so.
Deep breath
Come clean
Tell her everything
I was ordered to "take care of a nuisance", the uppercity mayor wanted her to be thrown into jail and I almost did just that. It was the simple, straight forward options to gain his approval. It would've furthers my career, a few more invites to gatherings, a few more hands shaken
A few more pawns in my pocket
Of all things, the breaking point was with a visit with my parents.
"We only want the best for you, that's all."
"Listen to your mother and father, we've made it this far, learn from our mistakes."
"One day you will thank us."
I could never see my father in the same light after he told me what he did. What my mother helped him do at Progress Square. He was even proud of it.
"Keep an eye on them, no telling what these scums are planning."
They focus on only two facts; that the protestors are from the lowercity, and that they support gay rights. To them, both are equally heinous. Ten officers stationed on the edges of each quadrant. We overlook Progress Square where the 216 protesters spill into.
Father tried to stop me from going that morning. Let my officers take care of, don't give the cowards a worthy audience. I already had a rebellious nature concerning advice my parents gave; afterall, I did track down the mugger against their commands. Sly rebellion done with a smile and a curt nod. As usual, I turned my cheek and went down to the station without an inkling of my fathers plan.
The Northwest quadrant follows in suit, mindlessly drawing their weapons and leveling them with the protestors. Steady. Precise. Can they not tell that I am not giving the order?
Someone has hacked the lines; using my voice. The officers are trained to follow orders. Even more so if they agree with the order.
The radio crackles
"Officers of the Southeast and Southwest quadrants draw your weapons and prepare to fire."
He hacked it. He somehow got my mother's help, complied samples of my voice, stitched them together to make it sound like me. it doesn't matter whether or not she did it willingly. He secretly brief all officers present of the scheme. There was no incriminating evidence, mother is good at what she does. Officers simply feigned ignorance, jury already held disdain for the protesters.
Charges were dropped, justice was not served, order was kept. Order is the unspoken goal of the law, not justice, but control.
"Caity, I know you don't do promises, but tell me, just to put a dying man's mind at rest. I want to know that one day you are going to stand up to them and make them listen. If you don't; nothing's gonna change, nothing's gonna get better. Progress can't happen if there isn't a push."
It hurts to recall it, but I do it for her. I need to tell someone, I need her to understand why I am the person I am. She holds my shaking hands. I continue.
If my father hadn't told me this that day, I would not have been compelled to fight back. If I didn't know that my father was responsible for the Progress Square Incident, I would've just followed orders.
So I wanted to prove a point, wanted to prove myself to be different from the monster my father was. Show compassion, at least the face of it, to show I was better. If it wasn't her, it would've been some other poor sap from the Lowercity.
Now thinking back, it was not a very well thought out plan; full of holes and no back up plans. Naive and rash, I know better now.
The plan was selfish. My desire to prove myself morphed into a game to conquer no better than the charade the Uppercity plays. Full of myself, belief that I was better. All I wanted that to learn her, to map out her mind not because I cared, but for the claim that had done so. A title, a face.
Like all the other criminals I studied and eventually over maneuvered, she began no differently. I planned to end it the night at the Noxian Lounge by confirming the final piece of her mind. I predicted that she would take advantage or make a move, and when she did, she would be wrapped around my finger and the job would be done. Detached, controlled, heartless.
It became so much more
"You taught me so much more. How unconditional love can be, how to accept flaws, how to trust." She smiles softly without hesitation. if my earlier words had any negative effect on her, she hides it well. "And I realize that there is so much to you than what I have logged. A whole person that I can't even try to predict. My anchor, my rock, though ever changing, to keep me grounded.
Somehow we are standing on the balcony over looking the mass of lights of the Uppercity. Chilling wind circles around us, nipping at my face. She is beside me, hand clasped over mine on the railing. Eyes shine dimly, less dead, still smoldering with youth and energy.
For how much longer?
If anything were to kill her, it would not be something as simple as a drug.
"Takes a lot to knock out this girl."
Where I expected words of betrayal and pain, she accepts me all the same. Past the minutes of comfortable silence and gazing out over the city we vowed to serve, she pulls me in, pressing me into an embrace. Tears threaten to rise up again.
Warmth
So much warmth surges through my chest, an utter slaughter of the biting cold. I smile into her shoulder. It's still a new sensation. the feeling of falling, plummeting, weightless and terrified. Knowing that there is no return and only an abrupt halt awaits. Above all, knowing that this will happen and being okay with it. The back of my mind screams that it's a bad idea, that only pain can come of it. That love is not worth it.
Love
It is a pleasant idea.
the professor meant well
A kiss, a smile, eyes of forgiveness and weary.
"It's been a long day, Cupcake.'
That it has.
Feet no longer touch the ground, arms cradle my form. Her tattoos waltz under the moonlight. Perhaps one day we can dance, maybe not at a ball, maybe just the two of us. Fingers trace the dancers, lips press against my forehead.
It is not my body that is tired.
Emotional exhaustion
Her neck is so warm. Underneath it all; the smell of mother oil, sweat, earth. The smell of Vi. Breath comes even, could sleep in her arms, could tell her not to put me down. Like a comfortable hammock swaying with every step.
We sink together, sheets rustle, soft kisses.
Still in her arms though.
The bed will do.
3:21am Manually end black box recording