CAITLYN KIRAMMAN

PRIVATE. HEAVILY SELECTIVE. MUTUALS ONLY. A CANON CRITICAL, HEADCANON DRIVEN AND CANON DIVERGENT INTERPRETATION OF FORTICHE'S CAITLYN KIRAMMAN.

( affiliated ) ... gntlets.

once in s1 when she sold it to get the elixir needed to heal vi. with little to no hesitation when she realised some form of payment was needed and she had nothing of real value on her. something that means so much to her, that has the symbol of house kiramman on it and is no doubt made from inexplicably expensive metals etc. the one thing giving her some comfort in the form of protection in a place so unfamiliar to her. the only means of protection, given she has practically no hand - to - hand experience, outside of what the enforcers likely teach.

being a kiramman meant caitlyn was no stranger to the aristocracy of piltover and their lavish, extravagant parties held for a plethora of reasons: some monumental, most inconsequential. expected to one day become head of the house, she was dragged to each party throughout her childhood with no exceptions — save for ailments which may have proven contagious. over the years she'd grown accustomed to upholding the mirage of an avid socialite; feigning interest in hoskel's mindless complaints about almost everything or one sided conversations with heimerdinger as he attempted to 'connect' with the younger generation. shadowing her mother as she flitted from council member to council member, house head to house head, as though some lost duckling in need of constant supervision had festered a loathing for the events.

it didn't grow any less frequent as she aged. yet now, after all is said and done — her mothers death, the war — caitlyn once more finds herself surrounded by bumbling bodies intoxicated with only the finest wines and liquors one could acquire. not by choice, however. an invitation extended to the kiramman family: their presence requested at the latest congregation. tobias couldn't make it. he hadn't been the same since her mothers death, and so the responsibility fell to her. as all things now had. try as she might to pass, her attempts to help heal the undercity would be useless should her name fall to ruin — which, with all she's come to know, wouldn't be beyond the capability of piltover's elites.

socialising had been kept to a minimum, barely able to keep distaste from her gaze and venom from dripping off her sharp tongue in every conversation held with those who viewed her as a traitor for beginning to do what was right. what she should have always done. what piltover should have always done. their foul gazes and words of snide condescension fell deaf on uninterested ears, and as the night dragged on she found herself in the company of sevika. councillor sevika, should she say. part of caitlyn feels regretful for thrusting the position upon her. not under the belief she wasn't capable, but because she knew the council. knew the families who'd taken the place of their deceased. knew that they were not easy nor accepting. that sevika's position would not be taken in stride. yet, despite as much, she knew if anyone were capable of dealing with them it would be her.

well aware of the woman's penchant for silence, caitlyn knew she would provide a much needed moment of respite from the seemingly never ending swell of people who wished to converse with her over the evenings duration. who wanted to pry open the still healing wound of her mothers death to offer their condolences. words hadn't been exchanged, only lowered chins in a brief nod of greeting — caitlyn's tentative, for she is still acutely aware of the damage she'd caused: of what she'd done. yet, as they watched bodies mingle within towering gilded walls, caitlyn can't help but scoff at just how jolly everyone in sight appeared.

disgust. rage. disbelief. every second spent enduring the looming presence of the undercity's kingpin added a new element to the already raging hurricane of emotions that strangled her thumping heart. arms limp at her sides, caitlyn was all too aware of the familiar weight that was absent from her back, rifle long since surrendered and leaving her with no means of protection. perhaps it should be some incentive to bite her tongue. to keep simmering anger from bubbling over, for whatever spills should harm only herself.

her escapades through the fissures of the undercity had been a harsh blow to her naivety: a place filled with so much misery it threatened to sag her shoulders and turn sharp features to an almost perpetual frown just thinking about it. blue eyes narrow, pale fingers curl to tight fists, teeth grit in an undoubtedly futile attempt to keep herself composed enough to emerge from the room alive. the abhorrence that drips from her gaze is stronger, yet no less different to what she'd felt listening to violet relay horrifying story after horrifying story regarding the enforcers. people she had once looked up to, bright eyed and innocent in her desire to help.

" you're a monster. " caitlyn chokes after a lull of silence befalls them in an attempt to hold her tongue: an attempt that failed within seconds. the insult feels almost childish. passing through clenched teeth, words coated with venom as she spits them out so vehemently that her whole body jerks with it. monsters had always been creatures she'd heard of only in leather bound books of fiction. towering creatures with too many eyes, teeth as long as ones forearm and as pointed as sharp daggers, an insatiable lust to devour. yet now, as she stood before silco, the revelation that monsters don't just come as terrifying beings in grotesque forms is a frightening one. that they live amongst her, feigning humanity — bones encased in flesh, voice crisp and steady, demeanor unwavering.

" violet . . . " arms folded loosely across her chest, sharp features deadpan save for the wary raise of her brow, blue eyes flicker between vi and the jar being tossed effortlessly between her hands — the very jar caitlyn had previously tried, and failed, to open. not for a lack of effort; in fact, she'd struggled for a lengthy five minutes before her frustrations got the better of her. if broad, leather donned frame hadn't come striding through the door to witness her futile attempts, then the offending object would have been placed right back into the cupboard it had been retrieved from.