Chapter Text
Caitlyn rested her bicep on the back of the corner booth’s wooden frame, her forehead leaned into her fingertips as she smirked at the lovely girl next to her. The ornate cushion underneath her thighs did nothing for the discomfort of cracked wood and the corner booth only offered so much semblance of privacy. The sounds of jeering and laughter was slightly muted in their makeshift sanctuary.
It was rare for Caitlyn to spend any time in Bilgewater’s lively taverns, she despised the acrid smell of ale and the roasting temperature of drunken bodies that overcrowded. Her crew overwhelmed their chosen tavern every moment The Syren was docked- they knew their Captain’s expectations: “be on deck by sunrise or your ass is left to the shallows.”
Bilgewater’s debauchery rivaled hell itself. If you weren’t willing to kill, you were already dead. Caitlyn had no reservations in putting a bullet between someone’s eyes; she just avoided it when she could. In Bilgewater’s taverns, the nights always ended with a sorry bloke dead. Caitlyn trusted her crew, and if one of them didn’t come back, it was a loss that she mourned and a new spot she had to fill. However, she’s never had to do so. Her reluctance to partake in vices relied on the fact that Caitlyn didn’t yearn for unjustified violence nor did she revel in being so inebriated that all her straight lines were blurred.
But, pleasure, Caitlyn finds herself familiar with. Her entanglements were always brief and routine, yet she was still insatiable. She lures in a pretty girl the same way she lures in a creature from the depths of the Guardian’s Sea, with ambition.
Caitlyn lost her care for propriety years ago. Life on a ship had none of the laws that Piltover had, and in Bilgewater, propriety wasn’t even a word that existed on the island. While Caitlyn was accustomed to the lack of modesty in her life, she still tried to keep her privacy. She would never be as bold to shed clothing so publicly, but she wouldn’t shy away from wandering fingers under a skirt.
Caitlyn’s company matched the shadows they were engulfed in; her dark coils were braided with silver treasures, her eyes the color of a starless sky, and her dark skin silky under Caitlyn’s hands. Caitlyn gripped her chin to pull their lips a hair's breadth apart. Their pants intermingled and Caitlyn kept her right there for a few moments longer. The girl- Caitlyn never asked for their names- let out a low whine. Her slick lips parted slightly. Caitlyn ran a hand under a billowy sapphire skirt; she gripped her fingers into supple thighs and brought the girl into her lap.
Caitlyn pressed her lips to the girl’s ear, “Tell me what I can give you right here.” She felt the girl in her lap shiver, her knees clenching on each side of Caitlyn’s thighs. Caitlyn peered down in the space between them, noticing the way the girl’s nipples had hardened and grazed Caitlyn’s own chest.
“Let me ride your thigh,” the girl gasped into Caitlyn’s mouth. Caitlyn breathed out a low groan and positioned her lover on top of her muscled thigh, dug her fingers into the woman’s waist, and guided her to grind back and forth. Caitlyn could feel wet heat soak through her dark trousers.
Caitlyn mouthed kisses up her neck, stopping to suck a bruise in the junction between her neck and chin. Caitlyn trailed her hands down to palm at the ass of her lover.
“You’re doing so good, baby, so fucking good. I love the way you ride me. I can’t wait for you to come on my thigh,” Caitlyn praised and continued her exploration under the sapphire skirt. Caitlyn’s own wetness made her pants cling uncomfortably to her inner legs.
The girl maneuvered her hips at a quicker pace as she gasped into Caitlyn’s shoulder. Caitlyn was enamored with the girl’s movement; most women that Caitlyn tangled up with weren’t as bold as the one in her lap. She knew what she needed, and Caitlyn appreciated it.
In the throes of their passion, Caitlyn opened her eyes distracted by voices discussing something that she couldn’t make out in hushed voices, yet they were so close to the secluded booth. Caitlyn strained to hear the conversation as the woman kissed down Caitlyn’s neck and grinded on her slick thigh.
“...Ionia is being attacked,” Caitlyn caught from the voice nearest her, her stomach turned. She groaned out in frustration and drifted her hand to the woman’s clit. Caitlyn shifted her fingers down to gather the wetness between her lover’s folds and bring back to her bundle of nerves. She used the slickness to rub in a quick circular motion, making sure to bring the pretty girl to ecstasy. She moaned as she came and Caitlyn was sure to give her a chaste kiss before setting her back onto the uncomfortable bench cushions.
“This was fun.” Caitlyn wiped the come, that was sticky in between the webs of her fingers, off on her blue long-coat and emerged into the bustling tavern. Her eyes roamed the patrons eyeing her crew guffawing over their pints. Her heart soared at the sight. The misfit lot of them were her family, and even if she was hard on them, they recognized her as family too.
Caitlyn rounded the sea-creature carved partition that had been blocking her passionate endeavors. She took a final glance through partition’s carvings and saw the shadowed girl’s chest heaving while she laid fanned out across the bench. Caitlyn smirked at the scene, glad one of them was left satisfied. She followed the voices that had distracted; they were still whispering secrets that Caitlyn intended to reveal.
She noticed two men tucked into the tavern’s wall away from all eyes, who looked to be harpooners. It was unusual for harpooners to make an appearance at High and Dry , a tavern that was mostly frequented by pirates. Caitlyn had always made it her interest to be aware of the dealings in Bilgewater Bay, and she felt that harpooners in High and Dry earned her attention.
Caitlyn debated if she should pull out her dual flintlock pistols and train them on the men’s foreheads, but ultimately decided on approaching with genuine curiosity.
“Now why are there two harpooners whispering in the back of High and Dry ?” The men whipped to face her, pulling out their pointed weapons. One was bold enough to aim the harpoon at her chest, and that just wouldn’t do. Caitlyn pushed the harpoon away from her with the back of her hand and stepped in closer. The man in front of her had a thick square jaw with a map of grooved scars.
“Now, now, I’m not here to cause any trouble, but I heard you and your man here whispering about Ionia. If I can guess correctly, which I always do, the only reason a couple of harpooners are here is because you have a job that requires a ship and a crew. A job that is most likely taking you to Ionia, which is not at all a typical mission for your work. Did I miss anything?” Caitlyn summarized as she crowded their space. She tried her hardest to make big men feel small.
“Well, girl, I’ll be damned, you’ve got a brain in there,” the harpooner whistled. “But it seems you’ve missed the part where I told Ronan, here, that sea monsters have been spotted across the coasts of Ionia. Even heard a rumor that The Kraken’s been spotted in the strait of Tevasa.”
Caitlyn widened her eyes at the man’s words, “but that’s impossible, sea monsters have never been seen in waters north of Sudaro in all of Runterra’s existence.”
She was suddenly taken back to a time when she was much younger, when her nǎinai would laugh and it would carry in the summer breeze. She remembered the ancient earth under her soles and the fearless wild magic. Even when she was so small her soul felt it could intertwine with the roots and fall asleep peacefully. The ancestors she had never met before felt familiar during her summers in Weh’le, the only time her parents allowed her out of their sight. The people of Ionia were fierce in their spirituality and mighty in their magic, but they were not equipped for a legion of sea monsters.
“Rumor’s that Noxus got somethin’ to do with it,” the other harpooner, Ronan, chimed in. Ronan was slightly smaller than his partner, with a scruffy ginger beard.
Of course Noxus had something to do with it. Caitlyn has had plenty of encounters with Noxian vessels during her years at sea, and more so in the past few seasons. The first time Noxians had boarded The Syren , Caitlyn only held the position of Look-out when she was nineteen. The Noxians had demanded intel regarding smuggling in Piltover, with their guns and cutlasses trained on all of her fellow crewmates. Caitlyn had her musket at the ready, she was a deadly shot, and with a signal from Captain Fortune she would place the bullet in the back of the Noxian General’s skull. Luckily for the General, the situation was handled without a bullet. Captain Sarah Fortune knew how to manipulate people, and the Noxians left The Syren with the belief that Piltover’s smuggling ring was actually handled by one of the noble houses, specifically Count Salo.
One of the negotiations Caitlyn had to make when she begged Captain Fortune to allow her to join The Syren’s crew was share all of the personal knowledge she had regarding the royal and noble families. Caitlyn had been wide-eyed at the assumption she would know anything about the royal families, but the Captain had been quick to figure her out.
“If I am going to risk stowawaying the daughter of Duchess Kirraman, you better bet your tits I will get a high reward,” Caitlyn had dropped her mouth open to disagree to such an assumption, but Captain Fortune had held up her hand and continued: “You are bejeweled with the Kirraman crest. It’s not hard to figure out who you are, but to be a part of my crew you need to be useful and what is more useful than secrets?”
“Of course those bastards are behind it. So what’s the reward- it has to be good for harpooners to consider leaving Bilgewater.” Caitlyn folded her arms and quirked an eyebrow at the men. Her interest in the reward was slight, but her heart seized at the idea of Ionia’s demise.
“Now lass, why would we tell ya? Don’t see how you could help, and less gold for us,” The harpooner who remained unnamed snorted at her. Their weapons have since lowered and Caitlyn is confident that she has persuaded them to charter her ship. She would take The Syren and go without the harpooners however she didn’t have a crew that was adept in sea monster hunting.
“That is a shame. If you change your mind, find The Syren. My crew and I will be sailing for Ionia two tolls after daybreak. I was so looking forward to our partnership."
Vi was fucking pissed- and drunk. She had been scouring Bilgewater Bay for her latest target: the lost Lady Caitlyn Kirraman. It had been a fortnight and the only lead she had was the vague information Ekko debriefed her on. Her brother-in-law had explained how Lady Caitlyn Kirraman went missing when she was seventeen, she would now be twenty-five, and many in Piltover said her beauty rivaled a rare sapphire. Any leads Vi had gathered on the woman during her Bilgewater search were lost in the wind. Vi was searching for a ghost.
Vi attempted to drown her sour mood in the pints that littered the bar at which she hunched at. The more time she wasted searching for this noble, the longer Powder’s condition worsened. Her heart clenched at the thought of her sick sister, so she took another gulp.
Vi’s anger spiraled as she ruminated about the Kirraman heir. How could someone so privileged leave their castle just for the hell of it. Whenever Vi spent her fleeting moments in Zaun, she would take a glance across the River Pilt to stare up at golden Kirraman Castle and feel her stomach knot up. Duchess Cassandra Kirraman held the highest rank outside Queen Mel, and whatever Queen Mel commanded, the Duchess partook in her generous share of power. It was unfathomable to Vi how Lady Caitlyn Kirraman gave up her titles, her riches, and her security- for the sake of what? Vi had no inklings, and it seemed no one else of the Queendom of Piltover could ever solve the mystery either. A dead heir would be found by now- Lady Caitlyn Kirraman was purposefully missing and Vi would be the one to recover the precious heir.
“‘Ey! Stop fuckin’ sloshin’ your rum at me.” Vi sluggishly careened her neck to give the bastard beside her a blank look. She really wasn’t in the mood.
“Maybe…don’t fuck-ing sit in the way of my rum,” Vi hiccuped her words to the bloke who smelled like piss and fish. Vi wrinkled her nose at him and swallowed down the vomit that was rising in her throat from his stench. Ultimately she failed and hurled a mixture of rum and bread over his stained trousers.
“Fuckin’ bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are?” Uh oh. Vi honestly can’t even find it in herself to feel guilty- if anything the situation was the toothy bastard’s fault. He reeked and she was sloshed.
She grinned at him. Who was she? She was a problem . Her bleary smile must have pissed the man off because he took a swing at her that she easily blocked even in her drunken state. She got a hold of his fist and twisted until he yelped out. Vi brought her knee up to his crotch and laughed as he crumpled to the sticky tavern wood.
Because Vi was inebriated and still reeling from her victory, she did not notice when a blade pierced her thigh. Fire seared up her body, making her double over gasping. In her pained position she saw the blood blossom under her trousers and spill towards her boots.
“Fucking dirty bastard,” Vi spit and kicked the man in the shoulder with her uninjured leg. She was so disoriented, the bartender’s yelling hardly registered in her head. She wasn’t sure if her fuzziness was due to the alcohol or the pulsating wound.
Gloved hands hauled her ass to the door, “I don’t have time for this shit. Don’t come back.” Vi groaned and took a moment to lay the salty and damp cobblestone. The stars winked at her, and she had a fleeting thought of Vander. The wind that rustled across her ears vaguely sounded like her dead father.
“Get up Vi. Powder is relying on you,” it whispered to her. She pulled herself up to her knees, letting out another bout of vomit. She was curled into herself, the leathered handle of the throwing knife staring up at her. She was in too much of a vulnerable location to attempt to pull out the lodged blade. Vi made the decision to limp to the inn that she had been operating out of for the past fortnight. Luckily, Bilgewater was a no questions asked type of place.
Each hobbled step was an inferno of agony through her body. She gripped the rocky outcroppings which the establishments of Bilgewater were built upon. The foundation of the city was that of abandoned temples. Bilgewater Bay was as if the ocean floor had flooded the surface. Their buildings were made of repurposed materials from the hulls of ships to stolen artifacts, while algae climbed up the winding cavern that was the port city. Their architecture was dangerous and extraordinary and untamed. In some ways the city reminded Vi of Zaun, with the shadowed streets and green hues.
She felt hidden eyes roam over her, hungry to reel in a catch. People went missing in Bilgewater; those who were too weak to stay afloat in the lawless waves. Among the harpooners, pirates, serpent-hunters, and dock gangs, there were smugglers and traffickers and organ harvesters. Vi was not a pious woman, but she sent a prayer up to Janna- please sweep those who want to steal my organs into the Guardian’s Sea.
Her staggered steps splashed into the perpetual slightly flooded stone streets- high tide would have soaked up to her ankles. She winced at her blood tingeing the puddles, an uneven trail to any who stalked her.
There was never silence in Bilgewater Bay and the rowdy, midnight pests buzzed in her ears. The noise filled her head with an ache that was only soothed when she hummed a shanty her mother used to croon to her when she was at her sickest, which had been often as a child. Her vision became blurry around the edges, the jutting rocks softened into smooth stones- the magicked fire lamps blended into a sunset splaying across the sea.
Vi convinced herself she had been trying to stumble back to her inn for the entire night by now. She swore she saw traces of the sunrise peeking through the outcroppings and felt the midnight sea breeze thaw. She had a foggy inkling to cascade beneath the wooden scaffolded walkways that extended to other dwellings and structures of the city. She could hide along the barnacled and runed walls that have since been concealed by construction, once palaces of piety. The bay would soak into her wounded body, maybe even cool the inferno that raged her thigh.
She stepped again, attempting to keep weight off her left leg, and she let out a scratchy laugh- a light at the end of the tunnel moment happening in an overwhelming closure to her endless night. A flickering lantern basked the splintered sign that read Serpent's Lair in a sanguine glow. Adrenaline electrified Vi, giving her the momentum to shoulder through the crumbling entryway and all but crawl up the stairs to her rooms. There were no stragglers at this hour, the hour between starlight and first light- Vi was thankful.
Vi barreled her body to the shoddy bed; a mattress that was stuffed with bunched seagrass and a thin woven blanket laid upon it. She winced as she positioned herself to lean her back against the wooden frame. Her chest rose and fell as the embedded blade glared up at her. The ripped fabric around the knife had unraveled more from when she had been stabbed, displaying her blood-soaked thigh.
Hands fumbled as she unhooked her belt, sweat beading her forehead. She arched the top of her back into the bedframe to pull the leather from where it slung across her waist. Every movement brought a flash of pain and a ripple of nausea.
Vi gripped the end of the belt and slid it under her upper thigh- she tried to keep her bleeding leg still. Her other hand reached between her thighs to grab the end that she had managed to get under her. Vi brought the leather’s end through the bronze buckle yanked hard. She doubled over…which hurt, so she threw her head back so quickly and a loud thunk resounded.
“ Fuck! ” Her gasps came out uneven; she grinded her teeth and refocused on her leg which was draining of color. She knotted the makeshift tourniquet, and glanced at her side table. Strewn across the top was a clay water jug carved with a wave pattern and her cloth wrappings- the ones she mostly used to cover her chest. It would have to do.
Vi clutched the jug’s handle shakily in her right hand, droplets tumbling from the mouth. With her left hand, she grasped the hilt of the knife, shut her eyes, and pulled. Blood bubbled up and spilled in rivulets, a crimson chasm. Vi dumped the entirety of the jug on the gash, too feeble to thoroughly clean it.
Exhaustion and pain clouded her vision. Sleep could take her once she was dead, which- she thought- could actually be sooner rather than later. The blood flow was turning to a trickle and Vi took the opportunity to dab away the blend of blood and water with a torn bit from her cloth wrappings. The wound was angry, the skin hot. In a perfect world, Vi would get it sewn shut, but in the Serpent's Lair, a tight bandage was her best remedy. She loosened the belt around her thigh, too exhausted to bother with pulling it free from the underside of her leg.
The slightest of sunbeams cascaded through her room’s green paned window and her eyes became leaden. Vi’s breath evened out for the first time since the night had begun; she let out a final sigh and fell asleep.
The island of Bilgewater was collapsing into the sea, chunks of rock raining down and trembling Serpent’s Lair - at least that’s what it felt like to Vi. Someone was pounding on her door with the force of an earthquake, which rattled Vi’s groggy head.
“What?” Vi was convinced the wooden door was going to split. She shifted and her vision momentarily went black. There was a slight pause in the intrusion but then the bastard restarted with fervor.
“I swear to Janna above if I got up for some fucking bullshit,” Vi mumbled under her breath as she hobbled to the door, pain searing and spiderwebbing through her veins. She cracked open the door just enough to see a fish-like vastaya wearing an apron that fanned out like a tail and a bracelet of bruises adorning their scaled arms. Their shoulders were drawn inwards and Vi was shocked such bellowing knocks had come from the timid shifter in front of her.
“Hello. I-I am here to tell y-you that you’ve only pa-paid a double fortnight’s worth of lodging, you need to vacate or p-pay.” The vastaya’s gills twitched, a slight tremor to their hollow voice. There was an echoey cadence to the way they spoke, as if the conversation was happening below the waves.
“That’s bullshit. I paid enough coins to have a room until Solstice.” Vi should have figured out she would eventually be conned- it was Bilgewater for fuck’s sake- but she was already irritated and her thigh was throbbing.
“It is the Commander's orders. I-I am sorry.” The vastaya casted their wide eyes down. There were no pupils, just a black abyss. Vi made an effort to open her door wider to face the inn-maid fully. She leaned heavily on the frame and tried not to flinch. The fish shifter cowered slightly at Vi’s movements. Vi’s annoyed expression fell to a grimace.
“Commander’s orders, you say? Tell me, what’s your ‘Commander’s name? I feel my irritation is with him,” Vi was careful with her words, trying to come across as angry with the crook of the inn, not the poor maid.
Corruption was the flow of Bilgewater, but there were some sins that were pure evil. Like having your staff chained and beaten with no freedom in sight, which Vi deduced was the circumstance this vastaya was in. A wave of nausea surged up her throat and it wasn’t from the pain.
“I-I am sorry, I am not allowed to give t-that information. Y-you must vacate your room if you do not pay.” The vastaya still refused to look back up at Vi, and it seemed that their green scales darkened to blue.
Vi had no hesitation packing up her few belongings, she picked up her belt that had been imprinted in the mattress of seagrass and made quick work of fastening it around her waist. Vi gathered her treasured rapier and sheathed it on her belt. She glanced down at the tatters that were the left side of her trousers. She shrugged, shouldered her satchel bag, and made her way to the inn’s bar which was on the first level.
Dusk would be approaching soon, and the bar was gathering a crowd. Vi stationed herself at a table under the stairs, a pint in front of her; she didn’t drink it. Vi’s eyes were trained on the vastaya maid, who made their way behind the bar. Patrons roved their hungry gazes on the fish shifter; Vi crushed the glass in her fist, a crack splintering up the side. She muttered curses under her breath as a trickle of ale escaped the fissure.
A band of serpent-hunters crowded the counter, each of them sporting a grotesque kraken symbol; some brandished it on their arms, others had it sewn into their headwear, and a few even had the status to have the symbol carved into their weapons. Vi was familiar with gangs; they were common in Zaun, but she had yet to have an issue with one in Bilgewater. That changed today.
Serpent-hunting was a tedious profession, and most times glory came with death. Serpent-hunting was a different occupation from monster-hunting. Killing a sea serpent and lugging it back to shore meant two things. One: you were one talented motherfucker- sea serpents were slimy bastards, hard to kill, even harder to catch. Two: you were getting one hell of a payout. Every part of the serpent was worth a chest of gold; a sea serpent’s three barbs on the end of its tail held a venom so potent a drop could poison an entire crew, the color changing scales made impenetrable armor, and a serpent’s horn could be fashioned into blades so sharp, one slice could see a man halved.
A gang of serpent-hunters was rare, most operated in duos or trios- but a whole gang? Sketchy business. No one who dared to hunt sea serpents felt the urge to be generous with the glory and wealth. It’s why they conducted their business with little company. Vi had heard stories where serpent-hunters would hire a crew, sail them out to a serpent’s nest, and sacrifice half the ship in order to lure the snake out. It was a way to ensure the serpent would slither out from their caves and that the serpent-hunter’s pockets overflowed with coin.
The hunters snickered at and taunted the barmaids, with a confidence only those who knew there would be no repercussions to their actions had. The barmaids kept their chins to their chests, pouring pints and wiping up sticky spills within seconds.
“Another round! Marisela, more ale!” The vastaya that had kicked Vi out flinched at the demands. Their green gills fanned searching for the sanctity of the sea. Vi wondered if it was difficult for Marisela to breathe out of the water, likely another way their Commander kept them bound. She eyed Marisela’s rapidly moving chest and the way the vastaya swirled to refill mugs, they moved like a whirlpool- Vi was dizzy.
Vi’s stakeout under the stairs grew staticky, her fingertips sparking over the black hilt of her rapier. Her blood thrummed with electric anticipation, but she had to be patient. If she rushed at the pricks, Vi was not making it out alive. Her gash desperately needed to be sewn; her stance would be unsteady- an advantage for her eventual opponents.
The night grew raucous, the hunters drunk and stumbling. Sea shanties flooded the tavern, ale stained tunics, and apprehension nonexistent. Hinges groaned, the door barreled into the wooden walls, splintering wood. Vi grinded her teeth, narrowing her eyes at the figure settled in the entryway. With hands splayed in a jovial entrance the man sauntered towards the now cheering gang of serpent-hunters, the same man who had stabbed Vi with his hunting knife.
“Marisela, Vivienne, how are my jewels?” The thigh-stabber leaned his stomach on top of the bar to caress the barmaids’ cheeks. Vi was going to stab her rapier through his chest cavity and slice down until all of his organs entangled on her blade. She would eat his heart raw.
Thigh-stabber had to hold a high position, but Vi knew this wasn’t the “Commander”- no commander would reek of piss and harbor the punch of a seasick sailor. He was likely the Commander’s right hand- a seagull in peacock feathers.
More jeering and drinking ensued, and Vi needed Marisela to notice her. Vi gestured with two fingers, her head bowed and magenta strands hiding her eyes. The barmaid gave their head a slight shake then tilted their head to the back entrance that was for staff. Vi gave them a nod and started her trek to the door. Vi slinked in the shadows using the wall as her crutch.
The seabreeze stroked her balmy skin and danced through her hair. Vi engulfed her chest with the fresh air that was always tinged with salt. The thundering voices of the revelers poured outside from Serpent’s Lair and surrounding establishments. Each night was a revel in Bilgewater Bay.
There was a shuffle and a slurred, “Vivienne, you goddess!” when Marisela materialized in front of Vi. There was a perpetual dampness to Marisela’s green locks, their hair styled in a slick back with the tips grazing their shoulders- a few strays stuck out across their forehead. Their apron was covered in dark stains and a glob of spit dripped off their boots.
“I-I can’t st-stay long,” Marisela gasped out, a shell of a being.
“Listen to me, you need to leave. Take Vivienne and whoever else you need. I'm burning this place to the ground. Tonight,” Vi’s words were rushed under her breath, heart beating wildly. Marisela’s eyes bulged and they started to back away, heels tripping over stray rocks.
“Y-you can’t do that. If it g-goes wrong, we will be punished.” Vi took a step towards the vastaya, throwing her palms up.
“That’s why you have to leave and get everyone else out. Tell me who they are, spare me any information you can. After tonight they will never punish you again,” Vi’s tone was cloyed in desperation. She needed information, but she wouldn’t pressure Marisela to share their trauma. If she had to go in blind, then so be it.
Marisela squeezed their eyes shut and sucked in a breath through their nose, their gills fanning. The voices from the tavern teetered on stillness- their time together swelling to a crest. Vi had the fleeting notion to push Marisela towards the bay and strike a match across the wooden scaffolding, but Vi remembered Vivenne inside- she wouldn’t insult her with such a death when freedom was so near.
“Th-they are serpent-hunters a-and flesh traders. Th-they barely pay us. They stole me from the sea, threatened my f-family, they-they,” Marisela choked on their words and refused to open their scaled lids as they continued. “They severed m-my dorsal fin; even if I-I tried to escape back home, I-I wouldn’t make it. They th-threatened to do the same to my sisters. Others here, t-they keep as ser-servants, but most are used as serpent fodder. Commander makes gold off th-the flesh trades and h-his hunters are allowed to-to-” Vi stopped Marisela, already knowing what they were going to say.
“They all die tonight,” Vi assured the vastaya, venom dripping from her vow. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck, setting her sail for doom. Marisela was dripping in sorrow, but they splayed a scaled hand on Vi’s bicep to stop her.
“In two bell t-tolls follow Alby up this-” Marisela gestured to the rotted ladder leading up to an equally rotted deck. “The rest of th-the hunters take to their rooms. Alby and Commander Lackert converse up h-here.” The fish shifter gave Vi the last bit of information she needed to conclude her plan.
“Thank you Marisela. Now please take yourself and the others to safety, you have two bell tolls to make it out.” Marisela nodded and sought their way back into the tavern.
“Oh, and Marisela?” They paused before the splintering door.
“Yeah?”
“I am so sorry for what has happened to you. Go, swallow the sea, and see your sisters,” Marisela’s green lips tugged into the tiniest of somber smiles and took the final step back into the Serpent’s Lair. Vi wondered if she would truly be able to avenge them.
Two bells tolled and as if on cue, Alby- thigh-stabber- emerged from where Vi and Marisela had their earlier revelations. Vi was shrouded in shadows and propped behind barrels of beer, a less comfortable stakeout than the underside of stairs. Her thigh was pulsating, worn from the awkward kneel she had positioned herself in.
Alby climbed the ladder in drunken fervor, occasionally one hand would slip or a foot wouldn’t catch the next rung, but he continued unphased as if this was his nightly ritual. He slunk into the hidden attic office, and Vi took her opportunity.
The ladder stared menacingly down at her, the wet rot infiltrating her nose making her gag. Vi began her ascent, relying heavily on her upper body strength to pull her up. Her left leg would not cooperate with the climb, she let it hang limp as she hauled herself up. Sweat drowned her skin, goosebumps rising from the chill of the open night. Her muscles strained and screamed in agony, telling her to give up . She would never let her sister tease her for her intense exercise routine again after this.
Vi flopped her chest onto the decaying deck; she sucked down her labored breathing. Her ear buried itself into the slats- splinters embedding into the cartilage, she heard the groans of the grains of wood that had been weathered by sea storms. Her forearms dragged her across the deck until she reached the wall. Shivers wracked her body and she bit down on her palm to silence her heavy breathing.
Vi was stationed underneath a small arched window- the glass propped open. Alby and Lackert’s rasped voices were like a black smog, they clogged Vi’s mind.
“Noxus becomes impatient. I needed you to get a fucking snake.” Noxus? Vi furrowed her brow, nothing ever had a good outcome when Noxus was involved.
“Every nest seems to be empty. We are running out of bait. Some of the crew are fearful we are throwing them overboard next. Ships are refusing to charter to us. It might be a futile-” a powerful smack echoed through the office, a gasp and a splat followed.
“Sorry, sir. We will deliver you a snake,” Alby whispered. Vi stretched her back to peek an eye through the window. The two men were toe to toe; Alby grasped his cheek and Commander Lackert, a hefty man who’s tanned skin was bestrewed with scars, held his palm over Alby’s.
A fire crackled, casting the myriad of artifacts in an intimidating glow. There were bloody jeweled cutlasses, soot covered pistols, an enticing chest decorated with words in a language Vi didn’t recognize, and displayed on an disorganized desk was an exquisite rapier.
The blade was obsidian with silver etchings of constellations. The knuckle guard was fashioned into a crescent moon and each end of the quillon was a tiny star. The grip was the same obsidian as the blade adorned with a silver pommel.
Sparks crackled through Vi’s fingertips, a desire to brandish the blade overwhelming her. Instead she wrapped her fingers around the flask that occupied her vest pocket, she swallowed a swig and then began to pour. Liquor cascaded down the building, seeping into the rotted walls. Vi crawled back and forth to ensure the most coverage she could muster with the small flask.
“I trust you, Alby, to do what I need,” Lackert’s voice was the underbelly of a ship wrecking on a rocky sea floor. As Vi suppressed the chills that attacked her, she clambered back to stakeout- her eye peeking once more. The sight made her nose wrinkle.
Alby had fallen to his knees in front of Lackert, who reclined against the fireplace. Wet sounds and grunts assaulted Vi’s ears, she had never wished more for a pistol to be strapped to her belt.
Vi could wait the hunters out and slit open their necks once they started their slumber, but Vi's teeth had already begun to chatter, her lips turning blue, leg stiff. Her blood was likely to freeze over in her veins, and her heart give out before the two men fell asleep.
Vi fidgeted with the flint in her pocket, her thumb worried into the smooth stone. She felt so charged she could light the fire with her nerves. The steel in her left hand reflected the moon above her; she heaved in a gulp of icy air and withdrew a tree branch from where she shoved it between her belt and back during her hideout behind barrels.
Flint struck against steel and sparks rained over the branch, catching the kindling. Vi hunched on her knees and kept the torch close to her feet as she began her process.
Flames licked up the alcohol, igniting the rotted wood of the Serpent’s Lair. Wood crackled and spit, Vi’s skin burned from the heat. The tavern was unfurling under the flames.
“What the fuck!” Lackert bellowed, pushing Alby to the carpet that was slowly being engulfed in flames.
“Alby, go! Find the fucker who’s done this.” Vi watched Alby scramble to his feet, using his forearm to shield from the inferno as he stumbled to the entry. Lackert hacked a cough as he moved to collect his precious treasures. He ignored the sea of flames beckoning him to death.
Vi stalked the entry and her skin searing. Her lungs screamed in agony- smoke curled into her chest to thieve her air. The inferno blazed, but Vi remained. Alby’s ash covered body was two steps from the entry when Vi’s cutlass gutted his stomach.
Rivulets of blood flowed around her sword, the fire hissing from the droplets that fed the flames. Alby’s pupils were blown as he stared at Vi- his face drained of color- death’s tendrils winding through his charring body.
A squelch sounded as Vi yanked her cutlass from Alby’s flesh. She used the momentum to push him into the flames that were ready to swallow him whole. Lackert’s stare glazed over as watched Alby burn. The acrid scent of charred flesh assaulted the smoke filled room.
Lackert snarled. In a dry blink, a pistol was pointed at Vi’s skull. Lackert was reckless in his shot, his finger shaking on the trigger. The bullet whizzed past Vi’s ear.
“For a commander serpent-hunter, you're a terrible shot. I expected mo-” Vi’s taunt was cut off by a second bullet aiming for her heart. She grunted and deflected the bullet with her blade, it diverted into the inferno.
The roof was raining down in wooden ash, a slat caved in, dividing the commander and Vi. She parried away to avoid suffering the same fate as Alby. Vi lost Lackert in the suffocating haze. She was aware the chances of escaping were dwindling, but she refused to break her oath to Marisela.
A chain of coughs from the corner of the blazing room alerted Vi of her companion’s location. The sole of her shoes were melting with her emboldened steps. Heat burned holes into her loose sleeves and ash stained her shirt black.
Lackert continued his rifling through his treasures, stealing what could fit into his rucksack. His left arm hung loose, and Vi noticed a tear through his shoulder a fiery, bubbling wound protruded. The slat must've gotten him.
The Serpent's Lair groaned- the structure overwhelmed by the flames. Lackert and Vi glanced over at the star-kissed rapier, locked eyes, and hurried through the fire to the blade.
Time was a wave- it swelled. Vi used the fallen slat of wood to launch herself above the burning chaos, her leg screamed at, but her powered jump landed her on the wooden desk that displayed the sword. The desk crumbled under her impact and the existing fire damage, she lost her balance, tumbling into the desks splintered remains. Time crested as she reached for the rapier in the charred rubble, her fingertips grazed the hilt, and time doused her in a freezing swash as the hilt was ripped from her grip.
Lackert’s fist was tightened around the blade’s edge as he tore it away from Vi, crimson overflowed from his grip. She groaned out in frustration. She needed to get up, but the heat was licking up her skin- feasting on her open wounds. Lackert was going to escape a coward, and her oath would be buried with her under the rubble of a shitty bar and stolen treasures.
“Enjoy your heroic death. I am sure everyone will remember the bitch who burnt up in a bar fire, her remains to be eaten by rats,” Lackert hoarsely wheezed. He gave a kick to her ribs, his melting boot burning her skin, and stumbled to the corner window. His path to the front entry was blocked by pieces of the burning roof.
Vi let out a hacking cough, smoke, blood and pain overwhelming her airways. She rolled to her stomach, folded her bare forearms into the coals of the desk and shoved herself to her knees- she ignored the bubbling of her raw skin. She heaved in tainted air, her encompassing pain a distraction from her likely fatality.
“Well at least you will remember this bitch as the one who stole your final breath,” Vi lamented, she dug her fingers into the handle of the hunting knife that she had slotted on the side of her belt. She rolled it between her fingers before she let it sail to the back of Lackert’s neck.
Vi was a shit shot; she was skilled in hand to hand combat. She could stab, strike and parry with her eyes closed, but give her a bow or pistol and it was a fifty-fifty shot of her mark striking true.
Vi’s heart was frantic, her blood rushing up her throat and stinging her ears. The knife soared, the flames glinting off the metal. Its slighting missed Vi’s target, embedding in Lackert’s shoulder.
“Fucking cunt!” Lackert’s scream was tinged in red, the impact of Vi’s knife made Lackert stumble as he plunged chest first through the window. Vi hobbled after him, sweat stung her eyes, her blood sizzled in the surrounding flames, and her left leg was limp as she dragged herself to the window.
The room was engulfed in orange, smoke stealing whatever air remained. There was no option to go out the way she came. Without a second glance, Vi used her right leg to thrust herself through the window, following the commander.
Vi’s flight was freedom. She gulped in the sea breeze and counted the constellations as she pivoted her body to ensure she would grace the ground with a tucked roll. However, her injured leg refused to cooperate and she greeted the cobblestone with a thud. The bones in her shoulder cracked- a yelp pricked at her tender throat and black clouded her vision.
Lackert's face was smashed into stone, blood pooling between the cracks of the street. His skull had caved in- his right eye hung out of the socket by unraveling tendons. The rapier had skidded away from his grasp in the fall, its position mirroring the dead commander’s and Vi’s.
She inched her fingers slowly on the bloodied stone, the only part of her body finding the courage to move. She blew a breath out into the chilling air, the misty cloud curling towards the blinking stars, her shoulder twinged from her yearning grasp. Her thick calluses were rubbed raw, yet she managed to wrap her hand around the rapier’s hilt.
The rushing in her head blocked out the night’s cacophony. A cold burning electrified her veins- the sword must’ve been forged from the ancient stars that once decorated Runeterra’s night. Adrenaline sparked through her as her hand held the entire weight of the blade, giving her the strength she needed to get back up.
Vi staggered to her feet using the rapier as a crutch. She stared at the crumbling Serpent’s Lair , the fire continued to roar, and it emblazoned the darkness. Vi needed to move. The sun would be up soon and the destruction of the night would no longer be cloaked in smog and burning flames.
“Oi! Is that the Commander?” Well fuck. Vi definitely needed to move now. Scratchy voices echoed through the hazy street. Two men unfurled from the smoke, noticeably ravaged by the fire. Their clothes hung in tatters off their singed frames. Their eyes landed on their dead leader and then they took in Vi- leaning on their dead commander’s rapier tousled in blood and burns.
“ Well fuck, ” Vi breathed out before she took off running, making sure to sheath her new sword. Her version of running was more like a rushed hobble, an attempt to keep her dead weight off her left leg. She was astonished that she was still conscious, but she sent a prayer to Janna thanking her for her body’s stubbornness.
“Avast ye! Get your ass back ‘ere.” Vi let out a choked laugh, the sound got caught in the heavy air. The serpent-hunters sounded so foolish- their demands winded and futile.
The towering cliffs of Bilgewater blurred in Vi’s peripheral vision; she noticed some dwellers getting blinded by the inferno. The people of Bilgewater were nosey, but they wouldn’t intercede. Shady dealings ensued and establishments burnt down. It was ordinary, and no one would feel sorry to see Vi limping as her life depended on it. First, she had to get to the docks. Once there, she could find refuge past the slaughter sheds and go to the caves along the coast towards the Serpentine Strait. The caves were more secluded due to the unpredictable tides, but Vi could shelter under the damp rocks for a few days. She could swipe a few bottles of brandy and a net of oranges to join her on her hidden healing. If Vi didn’t get off this leg, she would soon be hobbling on a peg leg.
A pistol cocked. An explosion popped. Vi cringed away from the blast above her- the bullet ricocheted through a wooden sign that read “Inaya’s Apothecary.” She felt a twinge of guilt at the now limp hanging sign, hoping it was an easy fix.
Salt sprayed into her wind-swept hair- it started to curl at the nape of her neck. There was a mist in the air that covered her body in a sheen of dampness as if she was sweating salt water. The glistening cavern that spiked out around Bilgewater’s rowdy center was closing in around her. Vi’s breaths were short- her heart tried to burst through her chest in an ugly escape attempt. Every extremity of her’s wailed to give up, rest, find solace in sleep, but the serpent-hunter’s were still chasing her. Their shots were sloppy and their jeers distasteful.
Each crack in the cobblestone was a hindrance, the toe of her boot continually getting caught. She shoved barrels that lined the street onto the path of her assailants; she didn’t take the time to glance back at her work. All Vi needed to do was just lose them- which was turning out to be a difficult feat. The assholes were relentless, and here she was believing she did them a favor. Commander Lackert was an annoying, abusive prick.
A series of explosions and curses alerted Vi. Heat crawled up her back. She whipped her head behind her left shoulder, strands of her bangs fell into her eyes, one of the barrels had been hit by a stray bullet. A barrel full of gunpowder. Splinters of fiery wood rained down on the city center. The Fountain of Daryah, the glistening point where all streets of Bilgewater intersected, was emanating a cloud of steam. At the top of the fountain, the marbled mermaid who reached a hand towards the stars had shattered at her tail. The four tiers below Daryah were scorched to black. Luckily, the surrounding shops, taverns, and inns had avoided the blast. The Fountain of Daryah absorbed most of it.
Great, Vi thought, I should change my occupation to arsonist.
The serpent-hunters had been caught behind the explosion, catching fire the second time that night. The moment’s distraction gave Vi the leverage she needed to lose them. She ducked towards the rock formations, splaying her back on the damp stone. The sunrise was on the cusp of the bay, the night becoming aglow. The cool breeze of night was starting to balm.
Seagulls cawed and Vi took in the docks that were only a short distance from the weapons shop she had taken sanctuary behind. Small waves splashed onto the wooded jetty. A few pirates and sea-farers milled about, tightening ropes and restocking for their next journeys. Vi took a moment to catch her breath and grasp the state she was in. Her clothes were torn, bloodied, and soot-stained. The toes of her boots melted. Her stab wound had reopened, and she noticed a tangled patch of burns weaving up her right forearm.
Vi scanned the harbor. There were a wide variety of ships moored, from Sloops to Barques to Cutters and even a few Man-Of-Wars. Vi’s eyes caught on a ship she wasn’t expecting to see. The dark mahogany hull of the frigate that rocked against the dock was one she hadn’t seen since two Summer Solstices previous. Three fully-rigged masts blocked the sun; Nagakabouros- Bilgewater’s tentacled deity- glared down from the dark sails. The Syren was inscribed near the rudder and a smirk crawled up Vi’s mouth. Her plans disappeared with the moon as she limped to Miss Fortune’s ship.
Luckily for Vi, no one patrolled the deck. If she remembered anything about Miss Fortune’s crew, it was that they were a rowdy bunch. Always neck deep in barrels of rum whenever The Syren was docked. Miss Fortune’s bastard group would be too pissed to remember their captain sneaking off to tangle with a disloyal bounty-hunter.
Vi creeped up the gangway, wincing with each sluggish step. A trail of blood followed close behind. An old friend was bound to help. Vi doesn’t recall a falling out with Miss Fortune, but most of Vi’s previous entanglements were hazy. She once believed she was still on good terms with a voluptuous miner in Zaun, but apparently she had barely thrown up on the tail of the miner’s cat after Vi had the woman sit on her face. Vi hadn’t been concerned with the unfortunate situation, she thought the miner was aware of her one too many drinks. When Vi had tried to make eyes at her at The Last Drop a few nights later, she’d scoffed and rolled her eyes. Vi had later heard from Gert, that the miner believed Vi threw up from eating her out- also she wasn’t over her cat being puked on.
The wood creaked under Vi’s ass. She had pushed herself up to sit on the outer rim of the deck, so she could maneuver her body without using her legs more than she had to. She was about to drop down to the gun deck when the muzzle of a pistol prodded her cheek. Vi froze.
“Why the fuck are you on my ship?” A voice growled behind the pistol. Vi put her hands up in a placating position as she took the liberty to stand on the deck. Her leg spasmed causing her to keel over, she heaved a breath.
“This is Captain Fortune’s ship,” Vi gritted out, she used the heels of her palm to push up to her full height. The sight she saw made her lose all the breath she just tried to take.
A devastatingly exquisite woman was pointing a pistol between Vi’s eyes, the muzzle caressing her nose; the pistol that she had previously trained on Vi’s cheek was held limp at her side.
In the dawn lighting, the woman had long cascading hair that was the color of the ocean when the moon glistened on it. She had small braids scattered throughout her hair with golden charms woven through some of them. A black tricorne inlaid with gold sat atop her head and she wore a matching corset that peeked out behind an expensive-looking cerulean long coat. Dark trousers clung to her thighs and billowed out around her boots.
“Not anymore.” Cold blue eyes narrowed behind her long strong-boned nose, “So, I ask again, why the fuck are you on my ship?”
“You’ve got to help me,” Vi smirked at, apparently, the new captain of The Syren. She hoped her roguish charm and good looks would save her from a bullet in her head.
“In what mad world would I place my trust in a squalid scoundrel who has trespassed onto my ship,” the captain had a familiar accent to her sneer. An accent she hadn’t heard since the last time she was home.
“In what mad world could you say ‘no’ to a face like this?”
“Like what?” Vi doubled over and cackled. A tear sprung from the corner of her. An infection was most likely traveling to her brain because she could not stop laughing at this woman’s remarks. The captain crossed her arms, and Vi eyed the way it made her breasts bulge up. Vi gulped.
“Listen, I’ve got gold. Just let me stay the night,” Vi pleaded.
“You seem more like a hassle than a help. I do not require your, I reckon, stolen gold?” The captain never wavered from her pistol trained on Vi’s nose.
“Bold to assume I’m a thief when you claim captain of a ship that’s not yours.” Vi gradually allowed her hands to fall back to her side, she gently grazed her thumb over her new blade.
“I have already disclosed that this is my ship,” the captain leaned in closer to Vi, her cheekbone skimming the grip of the pistol, her warm breath fanned across Vi’s face as she asked: “Enlighten me, though, who are you running from?”
Vi yearned to roll her eyes, this captain spoke more like a prince than a pirate.
“All these baseless accusations. I simply wanted to warm up the night with an old friend,” Vi bit her lip, feigning flirtation, in an attempt to cover up the pain searing up from her leg to her head.
“From the way you slunk upon my ship covered in blood and ash, clothing in tatters, and labored breathing informs me that you came from the explosion that happened in the square approximately one bell ago. Once your hands finished placating me, you have continuously touched that rapier on your belt which means you want to stab me, but you also seem to be exploring it. It is something new to you.” The woman cocked one eyebrow up the rest of her face remaining stoic.
Well fuck. Vi was impressed, she opened her mouth to retort, but the captain continued.
“That injury to your leg looks to be a festered stab wound, so you have doubtlessly maddened one person before this night. Yet, the burns on your forearm are fresh. Maybe you just happened to get caught in the explosion, but I will make one more assumption and say presumably not. Reveal to me who you are evading or I won’t hesitate to let my finger slip.” The murmured threat went straight between her legs; Vi cursed herself and blamed it on her pain-addled mind.
“You might receive more satisfaction from slipping your finger than knowing whatever burdens I have to reveal,” Vi’s voice was dripped in honey, and for the first time during their encounter the mesmerizing captain’s face revealed emotion. Her eyes widened, her lips slightly parted, and she lowered her pistol.
Vi was going to continue with a flirtatious quip when suddenly her left leg gave out and she tumbled backwards, smacking her head on the deck with an echoing thump . The last thing she saw before the world went to black was the ethereal captain haloed by the rising sun.