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Chapter Text

Her tender fingers traced the engraved patterns laying on the pale surface of the chess piece. The simmering warmth planted a gentle kiss on her mellow cheeks. Another win, eh? Win after win after win. Losing almost seemed foreign. Her honed chin remained propped up on her clammy palms as the glistening Summer aroma remained tangled on her creamy skin, sun-kissed by the blissful atmosphere. Caitlyn’s oceanic locks danced in sync to the brittle breeze, swaying in a gentle rhythm.

The prosperous hum of the balmy jazz tune dangled in the crevices of her ear as she found herself fiddling with the solemn white chess piece in her grip. Notes of symphonic chatter painted the walls of the Kiramman Country Club. Joyous laughter played a pivotal role in steering the charming atmosphere, a tumultuous contrast to Caitlyn’s gloom. It was almost as if a burdening cloud of familial pressure was crushing her with the rain.

Growing up in the grand Kiramman estate, Caitlyn was always swimming in a pool of treasures— Makeup, books, a ridiculous amount of violins and pianos, dresses. You name it and she had it. It was as if to say that from the second she was born, she was slapped with bundles of money in the face. Her family were in no way abusive but were manipulative and quite frankly narcissistic. Expectations, conservative and outed traditions, academic validation. The Kirammans cried about it like babies.

So here she sat, dwelling in her own misery, sitting in front of the worthless and very familiar chess board as she swirled that random chess piece.

“Yes, I know, my fellow King,” Caitlyn’s rigid British accent shone through whilst she found herself speaking to a literal piece of ornamented wood. “You’re on the top of the world yet you feel below everyone else,” she whispered sadly.
She sighed and put the piece back on the board, ridiculing at the fact she was losing her perfectly sculpted mind.

“Speaking to overrated pieces of posh people stuff now, are we?” A voice spoke with a hint of playfulness.

Caitlyn turned her head to greet her one and only friend, Jayce Talis. The bartender here at the country club. Her mother had freshly picked him like a ripened strawberry. He was flashing a glamorous smile while wiping a whiskey cup behind the bar like a true professional.

Caitlyn let out a gentle breath, perking her glasses up and standing up from the chess table to walk over to the bar.
She leaned against the counter. “Enjoying watching me drown in my own anguish, are you?” she remarked with a raised eyebrow.
“I must say, it might just be the most pleasurable view for you, Mr Talis.”

Jayce chuckled. “It most certainly is,” he slid over a cup of lemonade to the latter. Jayce crossed his arms over the bar and tilted his head with a much more softened gaze.
“Go on, Kiramman, what’s got you all gloomed up today, hm?” he spoke softly.

Caitlyn muttered a gentle “Thank you” before swirling the lemonade cup lazily with the white straw.
“Would you believe me if I said it is exhaustion?”

“Well, considering the fact that you’re about to drop dead from the looks of it, I would say yes yet I presume there’s a much more ‘Caitlyn Kiramman’ twinge to it so I am going to have to say no to that one.”

“What does that even mean?”

“You tell me,” Jayce snorted and sighed. “Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

Caitlyn’s plump lip parted to speak when a thunderous aura cradled her throat. She felt it. Her presence. The bombinate clicking and clacking of her heels sterilised the marble flooring and thundered against Caitlyn’s ear drums. That specific presence had been painfully familiar and not tremendously welcoming in the slightest. Almost as if the sun gets slapped up with a bunch of clouds, not light to be seen.

The navy-haired lady turned her head from Jayce to let her eyes fall upon her mother-dearest. Her ashened smoky hair was carved in the manner of a sculpture. The jawline seemed to harden as much as her brewing gaze. Her emerald pearls shimmered against the Summer beams, painting a canvas with beauty. Aged lines traced the crevices of her face yet she remained dangerously youthful.

Her most faithful daughter, Caitlyn, would tremble internally just from her mother’s ability to breathe. Cassandra’s aqua eyes made Caitlyn feel as though she were to drown in the abyss of no return if she stared into them long enough.

Her mother’s gaze flickered over to Caitlyn and a subtle smile dangled on her lips. Not a fabulous sight but would do. What was she about to say? “Oh, Caitlyn dear, has Oxford gotten back to you yet?” or “My sweet Caitlyn, your father and I were hoping to ship you off to another planet to meet Queen Victoria”. Never a day went by where this woman would not fail to make her daughter feel like a jigsaw piece being forced to fit in where it shouldn’t.

Cassandra floated over her with her magnificent presence before placing a sickening hand on Caitlyn’s bare arms. “Ah, I see you are keeping Mr Talis company,” she stated in her graceful accent. Cassandra turned to Jayce who was now sweeping the bar, trying to escape her vision.
“Jayce,” she acknowledged him with a nod. “All well?”

Jayce hummed and straightened his posture. “All very well, Mrs Kiramman.”
He quite frankly pretended to be interested in this very avoidable conversation.
“The afternoon is running smoothly, eh?” he questioned in his overly charming voice, causing Caitlyn to suppress a giggle.

“Quite the usual, I believe. Nothing too drastic,” the elder woman responded elegantly before turning her head to her daughter and rubbing her arm soothingly.
She spoke gently. “I hope you are checking your Emails, dear.”

Oh I wonder why. Caitlyn almost rolled her eyes but managed to hold herself back, impressively.
“I’m not as incompetent as you think, mother,” she murmured in a low voice, sipping the glistening lemonade from the straw. “I’m sure Oxford will get back to me.”
Caitlyn almost deadpanned how she basically called it.

“I’m well aware, howe-”

“Mother, I’d appreciate it if you don’t right now.”

“I find that highly immature, Cait-”

Caitlyn walked away. She simply just took her lemonade in the balmy pale hands, tangling her icy tips around the glistening cup. Her steamy mind could not tolerate her mother’s deviance for much longer without melting into a pool of her own failures and regrets. Caitlyn’s well-defined throat felt captivated by the constricting boundaries in her life, tying a dangerous knot in the pit of her throat. Why couldn’t anyone ever ask how she is or what her favourite colour is? Is the simplicity of life suddenly so overlooked?

The honey dew of the bristling morning tickled her nose as she dragged herself past the hollow oak doors and entered the exotic stench, steaming from the gleaming sunlight. A feverish scent of lavender and herbs coated the air, flying in front the outskirts of the lavish rurality of Kent. Caitlyn had to raise her hand horizontally over her forehead to prevent her eyes from getting bleached. She strode over to the white tiled area around the twinkling pool. It gently swayed against the dazzling breeze, soothing a calm into Caitlyn.

Caitlyn bent over to place the glass of unfinished lemonade onto the damp tiles before letting her fingers tenderly work on untying her white cotton laces from the front of her blanche Summer dress. She let the fabric dangle loose upon her bare milky shoulders before letting the clothing drop from her goddess-like body.

A night-shade bra clung onto the deafening outline of her perking breasts, sizzling with sweat under the rising temperatures. Her thongs beautifully shaped her sculpted bottom with ease. Caitlyn threw off her overly annoying glasses with ease and slithered into the water like a tempting yet lustrous snake. The glamorous water indulged in every curve of her skin as she threw her head back, her hair being launched into an orbit around her face.

“What a spectacle you are, Caitlyn Kiramman,” an elegant Newcastle accent erupted in the nearing distance.

Jesus, not Darla Cunninghame.

Darla Cunninghame was a menace to all aspects of genuine society but unfortunately for Caitlyn, she was a prominent member of the Kiramman Country Club. Her luscious lips strained under the grip of the sunlight. She entered into Caitlyn’s life every year with a brand new feature. Boob-job. Nose-job. Nipple transplant. God knows what this lady had managed to attempt. But somehow, her gloriously styled 60s blowout blond caramel locks remained quite frankly intact. Not a genuine strand sticking out of place on her scalp.

Caitlyn scoffed and swam lazily on the surface of the water. “Haven’t you got other things to do besides bothering me when I finally have a moment of peace?”
She watched as Darla sat on the edge of the pool and let her disgustingly sculptured feet soak.

Darla laughs out loud and lets out a snort. How charming.
“Oh dear gosh, Caitlyn, why wouldn’t I want to bother you?”
She sighs and smiles, closing her eyes as she faces the oceanic sky. “As I always say, when Kiramman has huffed, a criminal got cuffed.”

“That quite literally makes no sense.”

“It sure does to me.”

“Then you don’t make sense.”

“I beg to differ.”

A soothing laughter trickled up Caitlyn’s throat. No matter how disgracefully annoying Darla had portrayed herself to be, she had presumingly never failed to paint a subtle smile on the girl’s face.

Yet that dwelling hole in the crevices of her heart had never been sown.






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Vi leaned against the cold brick wall of a back alley near Piccadilly Circus, the neon lights casting a kaleidoscope of electric blues and fiery reds across her sharp features. A cigarette dangling between her fingers, its ember glowing like a defiant star against the city’s chaos. She took a slow drag, exhaling a cloud of smoke that curled into the night air, dissolving into the cacophony of honking black taxis and drunken laughter. Her leather jacket hung loosely over her frame, the scent of rain-soaked pavement clinging to it, mixing with the faint traces of whiskey and rebellion. Eyes lined dark, she watched the tourists bustle past, oblivious to the girl in the shadows—untamed, unapologetic, and wholly in control of her own world. The world could try to mold her, but Vi was fire, and fire refused to be tamed.

Her flaming crimson hair ignited her locks within the grim darkness. Vi’s merciless grey eyes preyed on those that crossed her line of vision. She took a long distinct drag off her cigarette before throwing her head back against the frigid surface of the bricks, watching as the smoke glided into the nimbus-filled skies. The illuminating warmth of the London atmosphere shivered her to the core every damn time. The tightened strap of her guitar case clung onto her spine as it was embedded against the wall. Vi found herself humming a tender tune amongst the tumultuous rumbling of strangers around her.

She was spiralling in her own vivid black hole when a seemingly tall individual strolled over. Crystalline scars coloured her face with trauma and past nuisances. A tight fitting noir tank top cascaded her torso, highlighting her devilishly defined abdomen. Sevika held a much more intimidating aura than Vi as no sign of facial expressions besides a brooding one was present on her face. The beast-like woman let out a grunt at anyone that stared at her whilst her feet cladded against the water-logged pavement.

Sevika’s large calloused hand smacked the back of Vi’s scalp.
“Stop acting like the main fucking character and do something useful for once,” the taller grumbled, shoving two bundles of gargantuan cash into Vi’s face which she effortlessly caught.

Vi groaned and bent over, holding her head. “Are you fucked? That was seriously not necessary!” she snarled before spitting out the cigarette from her mouth and stepping on it. She then cursed under her breath as she sat down on the pavement and flicked through the money individually.
“Who won this load, huh?” she questioned, not moving her gaze from her focus on counting as she whispered the numbers to herself.

“Ekko. That stupid insect went on betting with some business people,” Sevika followed Vi’s action and settled down right beside her. She leans her elbows on her knees and lays back against the wall. “He sure knows how to bust it all out at casinos. The kid’s got talent.”

Vi scoffed out a breathy laugh. “No shit. He bagged a hundred quid. Two bundles combined,” she sighs and peers around, clutching the two lots of money close to her. She then turns her head towards Sevika.
“You sure he doesn’t want to keep it for himself? I mean he-”

“Oh you and your nobility arc just have to interfere, don’t ya?” Sevika questioned sarcastically. “Maybe just learn to accept that it’s in the code, you know? We gotta share the so-called income ,” she put air quotes on the last word.

“What are we? A cult?”

“You should know that we’re far worse, peanut.”

“Eh, fair enough,” Vi shrugged and took out another cigarette from her box. She ignited a gentle flame on it with the flick of her silver lighter before tucking it back in the pocket of her leather jacket which glistened under the siren illumination. “Want one?” She offers a cigarette to Sevika as she speaks through the one getting bitten by the grind of her teeth.

The latter raises an eyebrow before scoffing and snatching the butt. “Now how could I say no to that, huh?” Sevika lights up the cigarette with her own crimson lighter.
“Ya know, you’re fucking addicted to this shit.”

“Speak for yourself, you oversized Volkswagen.”

“Hey, watch it, kid!”

A numerous amount of unwavering hours later, the crimson haired girl found herself dragging her heavy feet down the cobbled streets. Fabricating essences of petrichor tickled her nostrils as the looming ambience of the usual London pitter-patter simmered through the atmosphere. A few random individuals barged into her shoulder, leading to her having to size them up criminally as if they were hell-bound when they dared to smother their warmth on her. She huffed through her scarred plum lips, blowing a loose strand out her face whilst walking aimlessly.

Never had she dreamed of anything luxurious besides the unconditional love from those around her. After Vander’s death, Vi felt almost hollow in the sense that she didn’t have a guide. But the world has a plan for all of us , she said. Vi may not have a whole bathtub worthy of gold to giggle around in but she had some sort of home. Her friends. Her sister. That’s much more mellow and content than any discombobulated blanket on a Queen sized bed.

After hours of wandering through the rain-slicked streets of London, Vi finally trudged up the creaky stairs of the aging brick building she called home. Her boots left faint, muddy prints on the worn carpet of the narrow hallway as she unlocked the chipped door to their cramped two-bedroom flat. The air inside was tinged with the faint scent of old paint, dust, and last night’s takeaway. The place was miniature, the kind of small where the living room doubled as a kitchen, and every sound echoed just a little too loud. A flickering ceiling light buzzed overhead as she slipped off her jacket and padded quietly to Powder’s room.

The door was already ajar. Peeking inside, Vi’s brows furrowed. Empty. The room was a chaotic blend of vibrance and clutter, with spray paint cans sprawling across the floor like an epiphany of marbles, half-finished canvases leaning against the walls, and scribbled sketches taped up in a disorganized mosaic. It smelled of acrylic, ozone, and faintly of peppermint. It was messy, but it was Powder—bright, restless, and always dreaming. Vi lingered in the doorway for a moment, a knot of worry tightening in her chest, then turned away with a sigh, the flat suddenly feeling colder and even smaller without her sister’s presence.

Vi simply shook her throbbing head and strolled over to the rusting coat rack, which was on the verge of shredding and collapsing into a billion pieces, and threw her leather jacket lazily on it, the piece of leather swinging gingerly.

The crimson headed woman muttered a few unnecessary curses under her poisonous breath of nicotine before rubbing her scraping skull and wandering over to her so-called room, if that’s what you even call it. Wallpaper peeling off after decades of screeching in agony. Dwelling entanglements of cobwebs decorated every speckle of the room, leeching with spiders. The ragged sewage scent streamed in from the open pipelines lining the walls. Oh she wished her life to be painted with sparkle and thrill once again. Pathetic .

A bitter-sweet exhale glided from her mouth as she just took everything in as usual. Why does it hurt ? Why ? She slumped onto the foreboding mattress which for the love of God squeaked louder than her little sister’s childhood rubber ducky. Vi found herself staring at the moulding ceiling and drenched in the essence of the orbiting world around her with one stiffened arm embedded behind her head. Her eyelids became hefty with the burden of just simply everything.

“Fuck it,” she whispered to herself, as if she were to wish for something for her heart to beat for.

Chapter Text

“WAKE UP, YOUR ROYAL CUNTNESS!!!!”

Electric sunbeams ornamented Vi’s creamy cheeks with divine jewels, smothering her with tender kisses of light. Her eyelashes fluttered like a pair of fireflies and let her powder-blue pupils get complete exposure to the blinding radiance stroking her vision. Vi steadily blinked away her slumber and groggily sat herself up against the crackling headboard. A pair of ultramarine braids hovered through her room. Privacy seemed as though it was a complete joke in this world recently.

Vi let out a displeased groan from the surface of her throat, rubbing her calloused eyelids and trying to pry off the urge to dive back into her comforting pillow. Her spine felt sore and bristled with a certain texture of numbness due to the rigidness of the mattress below. Getting a good night’s rest was apparently a luxury for Vi. The London atmosphere became emulsified by the Summer ambience, stinging every nook and cranny with a mystical hue.

Her line of vision then pointed to a pair of pale smitten hands rummaging through the croaking wardrobe in the corner. She recognised that aura anywhere. Powder, with her ignited locks twirling and curling as she bounced around, screaming and squealing incoherently like a spherical planet of fresh air. She had her actions focussed on throwing random pieces of garments onto the hardboard flooring.

Another figure, a silent spectre of solitude, sat on a grubby seat with mild exhaustion portrayed on his face. His feeble lips were pressed in a thin line as his chiseled face examined the interior with his frail arms crossed on his clothed rib cage. Viktor was a sensible individual. Only speaking and expressing his formalities when truly needed.

Vi grunted audibly. “What’s with all the-,” she gestured to the mess on the grimy floor. “-. . .this?”
She threw off her embracing blanket and crossed her legs on the bed.

“Powder, over here, is preparing for our well-anticipated trip,” Viktor announced in his grand Czech accent, laced with tenderness and grace. He shifted in his seat and crossed one leg over the other like a true prince.

“Trip? What trip?” Vi questioned, quite genuinely confused and taken aback, having never anticipated such an ultimatum. “Wait, hold up, rewind and start over. What the fuck do you mean by. . .trip?”
She raised her hands as if she were to surrender to her own confusion and cluelessness.

Powder cackled vibrantly, spinning around and playing around with her exaggerated expressions.
“We’re going up my ass, baby!”

“I don’t think anyone wants that besides Ekko-”

“By her so-called ass , she means we’re going to Kent.”

Vi’s head snaps, like a tousled ruler, towards Viktor. Her slumber had suddenly evaporated into useless molecules of genuine atmospheric air. Kent. Oh dear God, Kent . “K-Kent?” Vi stuttered out in pure shock and surprise.
“A-As in the garden of England Kent?”

“Yes, precisely,” Viktor responded calmly with a subtle shrug.

“ The literal fucking Kent?”

“Yes, Like I sai-

“What? Like today?”

“That too-”

“Like, seriously today?”

“ Oh , Vi, stop being such a nutjob,” Powder groaned and shoved all the stuff in a shimmering magenta suitcase, twinkling under the illumination. “Come on, help me pack then.”
She kneeled, attempting to squeeze the suitcase shut with every fibre of her being yet failing miserably. Powder huffs and blows a blue strand of her locks out her face. She pouts and remarks, turning to face Vi who looked quite literally flabbergasted.
“A little help here would be real nice, ya know.”

Vi blinked and nodded. “R-Right,” she slid out of her bed and kneeled down beside her own sister before assisting her in terms of zipping up the suitcase.
“I think you seriously owe me an explanation, Powpow.”

“Do I though?”

“Oh I would think you should, considering I woke up to us randomly dipping from the surface of London,” Vi remarked back as she finally sealed the suitcase. “Since when the fuck could we afford to go to goddamn Kent?”

Powder rolled her eyes and sighs. “We managed to save up. Simple as that.”

“Seriously?”

“Heck yeah! My man won all that cash yesterday!” Powder smiled to herself and sat on the suitcase, shrugging mildly before using her fingers to point out the list she uttered. “And added with everything we saved up, it kinda ties in with the fuel cost, accommodation-”

“I taught her that word,” Viktor lazily announced, raising his hand as if he were too exhausted of his own intelligence.

“Shut it, Vikingston,” Powder snaps before continuing her list, poking her own fingers. “ As I was saying, we’re going to need money for the food a-and all the shopping. We’re broke more than half the time so I thought why not, you know, since we got a little more money. Just a month and a bit.”

Vi’s gaze softened dramatically and she sighed. “When did you get so wise, huh?” She puts on a tender smile for her sister as she ruffles the latter’s hair and cackles slightly, watching Powder whine and slap her hand away playfully.
“No, seriously, Powder, this actually means a lot.”

Powder smiles lovingly at her older sister and scoffs. “Says the one who made half the money with just her damn voice and a fucking guitar,” she retaliates and punches Vi’s shoulder, stimulating Vi’s heart to melt from adoration for her little sibling.

Vi chuckles sheepishly and scratches the shaved side of her flaring hair. “Well-”

“Oh, Jesus Christ , can we stop with all the mushy mushy and be more pushy pushy?” Viktor rolls his eyes and stands up, dusting his knees. He wasn’t even sitting on the floor. He taps his wrist-watch and huffs. “We haven’t got all day.”

“Wait how the fuck are we even getting there? None of us have a car.”

“Oh, I left the transport to Sevika.”

┗━•❃°•°❀°•°❃•━┛

Leave it up to Sevika, they said.

The balmy tunes of robins and pigeons engulfed the Summertide fabricating their skins. Vi’s lustrous cheeks became flushed with a hint of ruby to the sizzling feverish temperatures binding to a skin like a covalent bond, refusing to be parted. Her vermillion hair outlined her face by latching onto the steaming skin. She was on the verge of exploding into air molecules. Her maroon nylon rain jacket and billowing nondescript denim jorts created a dense package around her stiffened joints which added onto the astronomical heat. The daybreak aura distempered her eyes with an aureate hue.

Ninety minutes. Ninety whole minutes of Sevika's thighs crushing the genuine soul out of her body. Ninety minutes of Viktor’s toe-curling rumbling about the quadratic formula. Vi could not possibly take this for any longer. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant thing to be squashed like a worthless lemon. She just simply embraced her maple coated guitar close to her chest whilst the neck and body remain between and under the shadow of her legs.

The taxi Sevika had pilfered looked like it had clawed its way out of a scrapyard’s grave. Its once-black chassis was now a battered mosaic of rust, peeling paint, and soot-stained dents. The headlights, fogged over with grime and time, flickered like tired eyes on the verge of sleep. One of the side mirrors hung limply by a thread of twisted metal, while the bumper was a jagged grin of cracked chrome and duct tape. The interior reeked of petrol and decades-old cigars, with upholstery that was more patchwork than fabric. Faded tartan seats torn at the seams, springs occasionally threatening to jab through. The steering wheel was worn smooth from years of nervous hands, and the dashboard lights blinked sporadically, like an anxious breakdown in progress.

It was all attacking Vi’s nostrils like a herd of sworn bees that have unwavering strength. Ekko’s white dreadlocks would be seen hovering over the tip of the driver’s seat and his disgraceful french accent sprung through every particle as he sang. Ekko had always seemed to be an enthusiastic individual but these moments of his brutal ability to vocalise in a foreign language are not the best thing in the world. Vi had no utter clue on how Powder managed to survive in that gut-wrenching passenger seat.

Vi could simply not bear the constricting nature of whatever this was so she threw her head back, letting her mystical orbs watch the vast oceans of Kent seamlessly enclose the silicon that lay on the shoreline. The merciless ball of fire ignites an inescapable labyrinth of light that sizzles through the oceanic skies. She hums a tender tune to herself, imaging her fingers to simmer through the strings of her guitar which her palms closed so dear to her heart.

Her nails pluck away at the metal strings and let out a deep breath, closing her eyes.
“Powder, are we nearly at the damn hotel?” Vi grunts as she props herself up and rolls her shoulder back gently, aching with slight pain. “I can feel my ass cheeks numbing,” she grumbles and cracks her neck muscles.
“Sevika’s practically sitting on my lap,” she gives Sevika a quick glare.

Sevika quickly elbows her right in the ribs. “Don’t fucking lie, you chump. I’ll throw you out the damn car!” she immediately slapped back at Vi.

Vi grumbles and rubs her ribs. “It’s a taxi, you green dick,” she mocks in an overly high-pitched manner before huffing and crossing her arms. “You stole us a fucking rancid fossilised taxi for a road trip? Like I had to spend that last hour and a half smelling the possible scent of blowjobs from past passengers!”

“It was the best I could do!”

“Well learn to do better-” Vi grunts and face palms, having had enough, she faces the front and closes her eyes in frustration and directs her attention to Ekko who was still limitlessly pounding his vocal chords out to some random song about his best enemy in literal French. “Little man, for the love of my nan, stop the singing!”

Ekko yelps and slams off the radio, fearing Vi’s wrath when she is all hot and bothered.
“Jeez man what’s got you all pissy, huh?” he questioned with a pout as he kept his clammy palms on the leather steering wheel.

“Sevika’s voluminous bum.”

“For fuck’s sake-”

Powder perks up her gargantuan tinted sunglasses and puts her feet up on the dashboard as Ekko drives. She waves her hand around carelessly. “Guys guys guys, lets just take a nice deep breath in and-,” she inhales and exhales, sagging into her seat with a content smile.
“-. . .and out.”

“Yeah, excessive therapeutic breathing techniques are defo going to work in this car full of god forsaken dinosaurs,” Ekko snickers and runs a hand through his dreadlocks, steering the taxi into a rural housing street. “Ya know, this might not be so bad.”

Viktor dramatically rolls his eyes and leans his head against the window.
“Easy for you to say, you aren’t seated next to animals.”

“Oi!” Vi and Sevika both exclaim, causing Powder and Ekko to erupt into a massive fit of giggles at the front.

Powder cackles loudly and stretches out her arms. “Oh I love this little gang of ours,” she chuckles but then her eyes landed on a beautiful structure in the horizon.
She lowers her sunglasses and gawks. “Damn. . .”

The Kiramman Country Club stood with an air of effortless supremacy, nestled amidst the manicured green sprawl of Kent’s coastal elegance, where the sea breeze from the nearby beaches whispered secrets of old money and genteel scandal. Its alabaster façade gleamed in the sunlight, a pristine stretch of white stone and pale limestone, softened only by the climbing ivy that coiled like emerald filigree around ornate wrought-iron balconies. Tall sash windows framed by fluted pilasters offered teasing glimpses into parlours adorned with crystal chandeliers and oil paintings in gilded frames. The gravel drive—immaculately raked, of course—curved grandly before the neoclassical portico, where guests arrived in polished Bentleys and murmured greetings in the clipped tones of privilege. Surrounded by whispering pines and the faint salt tang of the sea, the club was less a building and more a declaration: old wealth, old power, and a place where the world’s noise was kept firmly at bay.

Vi’s powder dusted pupils scanned the feverish outline. It stood straight and slight like a heinous Queen, ready to play her hazardous game that stirs in her soul. A red string tied around Vi’s brain, almost drawing her into a captivation. Nothing seemed better in a blem of eminent country liquid which seeped through the gnawing taste buds on her tongue. Oh dear God, the thirst. Yet her heart was thunderous against her ribcage through a sense of anticipating. With all the magnetism lingering around her, she embraces the guitar closer to her, shielding it from her sudden twist of guts.

“Isn’t that the Kiramman country club?” Ekko questioned as he continued to drive through the narrow country lanes. He tilts his head towards Powder.

Powder hums and crosses her arms. “Sure looks like it, yeah,” She announces that before smiling widely and clapping happily. “I say we get some drinks from there!”

“Isn’t it members only?”

“Viktor, we’ve been over this. We don’t listen to the rich people magna carta ,” she carelessly waved her hands around and put air quotes on the last few words, deeming herself to mock the negligence of the upper class.


This isn’t about to end well, is it?





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Lord, just shut up . Caitlyn was on the genuine feminine verge of crashing her overly steaming skull onto the pensive piece of checkered wood, her bittersweet frail fingers practically itching to thwack the conceited raising off his lips. How dare her mother? How dare that crooked animal leave her to be insphered by such a bohemian? The intricate values of chess didn’t feel worthy of such beings. His cheekbone was higher than mount everest and Caitlyn really did not wish to climb that mountain today.

A cacophony of clouds enrolled through the sun-lit radiance. Birds soared amongst the fluttering daylight savings. The unwavering quiver of the oceans, an abyss to manifest. A dog barked in the horizon as jovial children bolted by the liberating shorelines of Kent. A vibrant epiphany of kites swam through the enchanted air, chasing after the breeze. It was truly a vibrant day to let one’s body sustain the joys of the heated season. However, for Caitlyn, this was a disgrace. Not the day but whatever ghastly animal was seated right in front of her.

His bronze tan was so reflective, the sun refused to even shine on it. It was as if the elongated sash windows of the Kiramman Country Club were terrified of his whole existence. He might as well burst into flames at this point. Caitlyn suppressed the frequent urges of rolling her eyes, groaning the daylights out of herself and simply sticking the white Archbishop chess piece into his feline eyes.

Cedrick Mulberry was a hooligan to say the least. A simpleton rising from the ashes of God knows what kind of trenches. He was the down-right definition of an useless aristocrat. He was the Mr Birling of Inspector Calls. Mr Barnum from The Greatest Showmen. Now, Caitlyn may be filthy-rich but she didn’t exactly go around shovelling a billion fifty pound notes in people’s faces. And here she was, being forced to play Barbie chess edition with this man because her mother wishes for her to have hope in literally marrying.

Cedrick chuckles as he moves a rook straight to capture Caitlyn’s Bishop, running a hand through his disgracefully blond hair. “My father owns about ten of the farms you see around here. Quite the business our family have,” he smiles and rubs his chin as he attempts to calculate the next very move after Caitlyn lazily moves a pawn. He moves his king.
“It’s quite hard, you know, to be oh so handsome and simply-”

“Checkmate,” Caitlyn carelessly moves her Queen and captures the king with ease, shutting him up. A sense of satisfaction erupted in her chest. She perks up her glasses with a subtle smile and crosses her arms, giving a knowing look to the thing in front of her.

Cedrick finds himself starstruck. He blinks and clears his throat, straightening his posture with a fake smile. “Ah, even the ladies can get lucky sometimes, eh?”

He did not just-

Creak . The astonishing oak doors swung open revealing a herd of unknown and unfamiliar figures. The first to enter the elegant mellow-lit interior of the Country Club, was a gorgeous sweetening girl with lavish blue bubble-gum for her shoulder-length mane. Pale as a feather, she was. The ones to follow her upheld an intimidating aura around themselves, interrogating the living hell out of Caitlyn. One was frail and seemed dramatically distant.

However, the last individual. Caitlyn couldn’t fathom the movement around her. The world collapsed on its axis. Stars converged into one malnourished lump of gas. Ignited vermillion locks, blooming under the touch of the sunbeams. A rough crimson rain jacket entangled around her immensely sculpted waist, revealing a god forbidden tight compression black shirt which succumbs to the madness of her figure. Those muscles. Oh all the hail them muscles . Defined to the absolute brim with masochistic tattoos and vibrant veins that twirled around her skin like a slithering python. The guitar glued onto the red-head’s spine was clearly not a helper, either. A musician and a renaissance Goddess?

Caitlyn found herself gulping and dropping her chess piece in an instance. Those astronomical powdered blue orbs glistened like a drooping star. She watched as Marcus, the almighty security that crawled from the underlayers of his lunch break, approached them.

Marcus clears his throat and stands tall, blocking their path and preventing them from entering any further. “May we help you?” He spoke monotonically in a stern voice.

Powder barged into his chest, as the short queen she is, and huffed.
“Uh yeah? Get us a couple ‘a drinks, would ya?” She was about to shove past him but he grabbed her by the back of her turquoise blouse and yanked her back, resulting in Ekko to steady her by the waist.
“Hey, what’s your deal?!”

“My deal is that you’re not meant to be here,” he disgracefully judges them with his eyes and crosses his arms. “It’s members only, swee-,” he then suddenly got shoved lightly by a certain calloused hand. Marcus grunted and perked his eyes up to Vi’s icy ones.

Vi spoke in a calm yet dangerous tone. “Might wanna watch it, buddy,” she steps forward, going past Powder and Ekko and scratching the shaved side of her head lazily. “Touching my sister ain’t cool, man,” she announces and sighs.
“Apologise,” she simply stated and shrugged, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Caitlyn gawked from her chess table and was drawn to how majestically Vi handled the situation.

Marcus scoffed. “Apologise? To a twink? You’re havin’ a laugh, mate,” he chuckled and pushed Vi and the other four backwards. “Go on, go back to whatever hole y'all crawled out of.”
He shoves all of them towards the door, causing Powder to become infuriated and creating a despicable expression on Sevika’s face.

Ekko grunted and shoved Marcus’ hand off. “Okay chill out, man,” he huffed and put a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “Come on guys, let’s get out of here-”

“Wait!” A mild shout came from the distance, causing all five of them, as well as Marcus, to turn around and see the blue-haired female jogging over, leaving a very mouldy Cedrick back at the chess table to grumble and fix up the pieces himself.

Caitlyn’s exotically oceanic locks bounced as she rapidly strolled over. In contrast to the draughty tint to her hair, a speck of rosy dust kissed her cheeks when she could feel the presence of Vi’s luminescent eyes, choking her sanity. Was it really allowed to be this hot ? The way feverish droplets of clammy sweat clung to her noir shirt was extremely painful for Caitlyn’s mental health. Have women always looked like this?

Caitlyn felt the need to let them in. She felt the need to provide some sort of comfort and home for the five since they looked somewhat exhausted. Summer clearly does not know the definition of having mercy. More importantly, she craved for the red-head’s acknowledgement. She craved for her eyes to be locked onto her, despite not even knowing her name.

She gulped and dusted the skirt of her floral aqua dress, which had a widened rectangular collar that revealed her collar and creamy skin, and puffy yet content short sleeves.
Caitlyn smiled hesitantly. “D-Do forgive our security. His behaviour isn’t the best in this heat,” she shot a quick glare to Marcus before turning to the five. “Feel free to stay, we have delightful beverages here at the Country club-”

“But Miss, this isn’t-”

“Marcus, kindly go occupy yourself at the back lobby,” Caitlyn cuts him off and flashes a polite smile, silently shooing him off. Once he turns away, grumbling like a child, she snaps her attention back, her eyes lingering on Vi a little longer than it should. “Please do come in-”

Sevika scoffs and crosses her arms. “We don’t need your pity,” she grunts out and huffs.

“Dude, have some fucking manners,” Vi snaps at the elder woman before turning to Caitlyn and raking her eyes over her, causing Caitlyn to internally shrivel up in an incoherent manner.
Vi lazily smirks and steps forward. “And who might you be, beautiful?” she asks in a low tone before taking the latter’s tender hand in hers and leaning down to plant a charming kiss on the back of it, earning groans from behind her due to her flirtatious nature.

Caitlyn was quite literally on the verge of floating away. English didn’t even seem like a language at that moment. “O-Oh I erm- Oh. . .” Caitlyn gulps and blushes brighter than a neon pink highlighter on white paper. Her hand felt like a ball of cotton in Vi’s calloused ones.
“The name’s C-Caitlyn. . .”

“Caitlyn, huh? I like it.”

Oh, dear God, have mercy.