In the Dark
Caitlyn hated to dance.
It wasn’t the dancing itself that was unbearable. She quite liked it, the feeling of losing herself to the music, of moving with someone else, every step and spin synchronized. She liked the feeling of the ground under her shoes. The way the world blurred when she spun. The joy and laughter it brought, at something, at nothing, at everything. Caitlyn liked to dance.
What she hated was dancing at these galas. It was uptight and prim and so mind-numbingly boring. Tried all she could, she couldn’t convince her mother to let her stay home; no, Cassandra Kiramman had insisted she’d come along just to show her face, be the perfect daughter she could show the councillors. She hated the dances at these events, the strict uniformity, the strangers she was forced to dance with. Every one of them was the same. People her mother brought to her, people her mother thought she ought to meet to “expand the horizons of her knowledge” or whatever she thought would happen.
Caitlyn leaned against the wall and pictured the board back in her room. There had been another raid today. Same excessive amount of bullet casings. Same odd scuff marks like whoever had shot the enforcers had rope dangling from them. Same scratches –
“Hi.”
Right in her ear. She whipped around and twisted the person’s arm behind him, instincts taking over for a second before she realized who it was.
“Ow,” Jayce complained, rubbing his arm as she let go.
“Stop doing that,” she snapped.
He shrugged, not looking the least bit regretful. “You looked lonely.”
“My mother wouldn’t be too pleased with me if she saw me manhandling Piltover’s Golden Boy,” Caitlyn said, raising her eyebrows.
“Oh, please,” Jayce scoffed. “Your punches would be nothing against me.”
She grabbed his ear and twisted it down.
“Okay! Ow! Stop!” he swatted at her hands until she let go. “Jeez,” he muttered, and Caitlyn couldn’t help the smile that broke on her face. She ignored the way Jayce lit up when he saw it, the grin on his face not the ones painted on every cup in Piltover, but something more familiar, more genuine.
“Where’s Viktor?”
“At the balcony.” He jerked his chin in its general direction, folding his hands behind his back, and it took a moment for Caitlyn to realize he was copying her position.
“Don’t make me kick you,” she threatened, “I’m wearing heels.”
“You’ll probably kick me for this anyway,” he held his hand up in mock surrender, “but your mom wants you to join the dance. You’ve been avoiding her for a long time, huh?”
Caitlyn sighed. She pushed herself off the wall in one graceful move. “I suppose.”
He beamed. “Well, I’ll leave you to that.” Then he was gone, blending in flawlessly with the crowd with his pristine white suit, lost in the swarm of faces tinged red from the alcohol.
Caitlyn hesitated. Jayce had always been the one she chose to dance with – yes he was horrible at it, constantly losing himself looking at something or someone, stepping on her toes and humming with the music, but it was those little flaws that made dancing with him so fun. And now he was gone. She sighed again and reluctantly stepped out of her little corner, heels digging into soft, soundless carpet.
“Ms. Kiramman! How’s your mother?”
“We’re doing fine,” she inclined her head, wracking her brain for a name. She supressed the flare of anger that rose at the “miss” – it had, after all, been a year since she was enlisted. “I – er – how are you doing?”
The soft piano and violins were background noise until they weren’t. Conversations hushed and moved to the sides as the music picked up pace, louder and more familiar, old songs with routines that had been engraved in her mind. It was both a blessing and a curse – the end of an awkward conversation and the start of something unbearable – Caitlyn steeled herself as the man she’d been talking to held out her hand, and she took it, forcing an easy smile on her face.
“May I?”
“Of course,” Caitlyn said, and they stepped to join the crowd of people swaying in the middle of the room.
She knew the dance like she knew the streets of Piltover. Engraved in her mind. She wondered, idly, if she’d ever be able to forget it. Step to the right, and to the left. One step back and two steps forward, and she raised her arm to be spun to the side. Hands clasped. Repeat. And then she would be flung out to the side, and repeat it all again with someone new. Faces blurred. Everyone wore the same smile. Conversations fell on her unhearing ears.
Just when Caitlyn was contemplating shooting the chandelier just for a turn of events, the music changed.
It stopped for a startling beat, and everyone stumbled in confusion, voices muttering apologies and laughing compliments and faces turning towards the musicians. Then it started again, but it was different.
Unsure. The pianist played hesitantly for a moment, notes falling heavy and short. Then it picked up pace, something quicker and wilder and bright and dark, and Caitlyn felt her head start bopping with the music. The woman she was dancing with hesitated, her grip loosening on Caitlyn’s hand as Caitlyn stepped back. She craned her neck. A crowd was forming near the musician’s podium, confused and angry – angry? – voiced sounding out, and then they stopped abruptly. Caitlyn swore, in the middle of the crowd, she saw Jayce Talis, and he was dancing alone.
It spread slowly, like a flower blooming. The younger boys and girls danced with Jayce. Some younger adults caught on. The rest moved to the side, though their mutterings had quieted.
Caitlyn laughed, and the woman looked at her like she was a madman.
“That’s a Zaunite song,” she said in disgust.
The song was ramping up in speed now, confidence spilling in every note. “It’s still a good song,” Caitlyn snapped. They had picked back up after a minute or so of gaping at the new music, but she was still dancing the old routine, going insufferably slow despite the beat of the piano. The violins had caught on with the melody now.
“We…” she frowned. “No Zaunite should be here.”
Caitlyn jerked her arm to the left, with a little more force than was necessary. “Zaunites –”
Three things happened at once.
One, Caitlyn’s hand let go as the woman spun her out, throwing her into the midst of the crowd.
Two, the lights went out.
Three, the doors were flung open with a bang.
And then Caitlyn found her next partner, their hands slotting perfectly into each other’s. She flinched at the sudden noise, snapping alert at the direction of the door, hearing the shouts of enforcers but seeing nothing but blanketed darkness and the spots of colour that the lights had left printed in her vision. Her new partner spun her in before she could leave to go see the commotion.
“Don’t.” A quiet voice. Caitlyn struggled to let go of her hands but the stranger’s grip was strong – calloused hands, short nails. So different from what she was used to that she hesitated, and that hesitation was all the stranger needed to pull her into the dance.
“The enforcers –”
“They’ll take care of it,” said the girl, twisting her to the side, their feet step-step-stepping in perfect sync to the beat. The fear, the desperation in the stranger’s voice made Caitlyn pause. “Just – enjoy a dance with me?”
They slowed as the pianist slowed, hearing raised voices on one side of the room.
“Nobody panic!” shouted an Enforcer. “Just a little problem with the power!”
“Just a little problem with the power,” the stranger reassured, herself or Caitlyn, it wasn’t clear.
It wasn’t hard to connect the dots. A new stranger? The imperfections spelled so clearly all over her? “Just a little problem with the power?” She suspected she was dancing with the person the enforcers were after. And maybe it was a long night making her brave. Maybe it was her mother’s insistence on her being on her best behaviour. Maybe it was the changing, rowdy music.
“Of course,” Caitlyn said. “Just a problem with the power.”
They circled each other, one hand clasped, little hopping steps forward and back that made Caitlyn wish she had worn shoes more practical than heels. She relaxed into an improvised dance, jerking and quick and so, so different from the kind she was used to doing in public, but slipping into the dances she’d have in the privacy in her room, with nothing but mirrors and walls admiring her as she shimmied her shoulders.
The stranger spun her in, and Caitlyn’s eyes had adjusted well enough to catch a glimpse of hair falling over one side of her face, the faint outline of piercings, and small marks printed on her cheek that read, VI. Her clothes, Caitlyn could feel, were rough and patched. She knew where she’d seen clothes like that before.
Flashes of light swept through the room as torches were handed out. Caitlyn felt her dance partner’s shoulders stiffen and she missed a beat.
“It wasn’t very wise of you,” commented Caitlyn, and she grabbed her partner’s hand tighter, leading the dance now, hoping back and back and spinning in then out to snag a blazer someone had left on a chair. She spun back in and threw it over the stranger, who flinched before realizing what was happening. “Prison breakouts usually have disguises,” she whispered in her ear. She had to lean down to do that, she realized, and was hit with the sudden urge to laugh.
The stranger shrugged it on, pulling her in closer, and Caitlyn felt a flare of emotion where her hand met her waist. “I think I was doing a fairly good job.”
Caitlyn set a hand over the same position on the stranger’s waist, turning them out and then back together, and Caitlyn laughed at the way the stranger had to tiptoe to spin her around.
Wild adrenaline made her bold. She let the stranger dip her back, feeling the muscles in her arm, straightening to lean back in, their feet never stopping their small, quick, shuffling movements. She took a stab in the dark. “I doubt it, Vi.”
Caitlyn felt the shoulders under her hands stiffen, and the next spin was more forceful than the others, clearly one meant to fling her out into the crowd of darkness, but she gripped onto the stranger’s fingers and used the momentum to pull herself back in. Satisfaction was cut short by the presence of others.
The sound of enforcer’s boots neared. They danced in silence as they passed by, torches only scanning each person briefly. Caitlyn moved to shield the stranger from view, their quick choreography and childish giggles hiding them from the enforcers’ attentions.
At some point the music had softened back into the traditional Piltover – the same melody, but noticeably different. Their jerking movements softened into something slower. For a while Caitlyn got lost in it. Ignored the droning of the Enforcers. Ignored the muttering of the people all around her. Ignored who she was dancing with. It was just them. Unseen. Unheard. The stranger smelled like sweat and dirt. Alive, after such a long time of being around people masked in thick clouds of perfume. Her battered hands were warm and rough on Caitlyn’s arms, her shoulders, her waist. Human.
Caitlyn let herself get lost in it.
The enforcers passed them by. People’s attention were drawn to some shouting far inside the room. Caitlyn felt the thrill of knowing a secret, holding onto one when everyone else puzzled and frowned and tried to make it out. Vi nudged her slightly and she got the meaning. They danced, moving now, spinning around each other towards the door. Caitlyn wondered why she was helping a fugitive. It was foolish. It was selfish.
But then the stranger’s eyes met hers, and she understood.
“So,” Caitlyn whispered, as they laughed apologies to the people they spun by. The dozens of torchlights cast the world in shadow, figures dancing along with them on the ground. “Why was your genius escape plan to dive into a place full of the people enforcers serve?”
Vi laughed, and she felt a thrill run down her spine. “It wasn’t planned,” she admitted. “I was running, and dove into the first dark place I could find, and, well.” Caitlyn felt her broad shoulders move in a shrug.
The double doors were still open and unguarded, and no one cast them a second look as they spun out into the emptiness like salmon bursting from the tides to be airborne for fragile, beautiful seconds.
The music could still be heard out in the halls. They stopped abruptly in front of a ceiling-high window, Vi stopping to gape out at the horizon of Piltover, draped soft by the blanket of night. The moon cast a clearer light on her now; Caitlyn could make out her face, the crooked bridge of her nose, the scar on her lip, the pink hair splaying over her face, and she carved the picture into her mind, the only memoir she would have of tonight.
Their eyes met, for a moment, and then they dropped their gazes at the same time.
Clasped hands released.
“You should go,” Caitlyn said, stepping back. “There are stairs down that hall and to the right. It should lead you to the back of the building. Enforcers rarely patrol there.”
The logical part of her told her she needed to stop. That she should turn back, grab the girl, and give her to the enforcers. That she needed to do the right thing.
But oh, it had been so long since she’d let her heart speak for her.
Vi hesitated, reaching out then curling her hand into a fist at her side. For a moment Caitlyn was convinced she was about to say something. To thank her? To ask her why? To explain?
A whistling sound, and a bang.
Caitlyn flinched at the sound, whirling around to face the window, only to be met by a dazzling display of blue and green and pink, fireworks bursting out against the sky with the sound of gunshots lingering in her ears. It highlighted the cut surfaces of Piltover in a harsh light. Painted white and gold in bold strokes of colour. She couldn’t stop the grin of wonder that spread across her face and she turned to see if Vi was just as amazed, and –
Empty space.
Caitlyn smiled stupidly at air until the realization sank in, dropping the corners of her mouth bit by bit.
Vi was gone. Smoke lingered in the sky as the light of the fireworks died.
Her fingers still held the memory of calloused hands, broad shoulders, and the dance they’d shared. A quick dance. Stolen from the world. One that she would never forget. One that she treasured.
One that she loved.