Chapter Text
Caitlyn Kiramman is nothing if not prepared.
Before she went on hormones, she spent a strong six weeks developing a presentation to show her parents about why this was necessary and how it would change their lives. She started crying on the introductory slide and her parents said yes before her tears hit her chin. She's done years worth of research to decide if she wants surgery or not, and has come to the conclusion she does not. Though, sometimes, she goes back to that just to double check nothings changed.
(It hasn't).
After university, when she was stuck in a scientists office, desperately hoping that there would be a project interesting enough to make her not want to throw herself down the stairs, she quietly researched what it would mean to open her own Kiramman Fund. Of course, her parents have a charity they use to support a number of causes. But Caitlyn got tired of directing them to the smaller organisations and the individual cases, the she wondered if she could just... do it herself.
(She can, and she did but she's tired).
So, of course, she’s meticulously researched this eight week trip, and she has an entire suitcase full of textbooks and guidelines on how to handle animals. Along with sixteen facemasks (one for each week, and a spare for a friend), forty two pairs of socks (in case the washing facilities are subpar and she can’t do a load of washing her entire stay) and three litres of anti-bacterial hand wash (just good sense).
Still, as Caitlyn sits in the back of her town car, forcing herself to look out the window, and not double check her notes, she can’t help but feel a small wave of doubt. It’s a miniscule, barely there kind of thing. Something that sits upon her shoulder as the car slows down to go over another pot hole. Caitlyn’s not regretting her decision per say.
She just wishes there was another way to test her hypothesis. Perhaps a resort of some kind. Somewhere she can wear her new bikini in water that won't have fish in it. Somewhere people know who she is, so she doesn't have to explain the eyepatch or, if they're really rude, her Adam's apple, because her transition was plastered over newspapers the moment she turned nine.
Caitlyn shakes the memory from her mind. She wouldn't change anything, she just wishes the world were a little kinder to those they deem different.
"Cow!" she shouts to Steb, her driver. He returns the sentiment, because what else is there to do, when you see a cow?
Caitlyn has always loved animals, it’s true. She misses her two dogs dearly, and hopefully, once she's figured out this plan, she'll have enough support to adopt another one.
She loves the outdoors, and wrapping up in sensible clothing to take a brisk walk along the coast or through a woodland. Something planned from the route, down to the locations for a break and lunch, to the amount she’ll sweat before she can see the safety of the carpark once more.
A farm is different to that, she knows. A working farm is significantly different to a Sunday afternoon stroll with her favourite walking boots and headphones she never actually wears. She likes the sound of nature, and the ability to know if someone is about to walk past her. But she does enjoy that people think she's busy and won't talk to her out of nowhere.
The jump from needing a change in scenery to taking an eight week work placement, that she had to pay for, she still can’t quite determine. She’ll blame it on Jayce and a bottle of wine.
No matter what he says, Caitlyn has never been bothered about having as few friends as she does. At least, not once she hit her twenties. The teen years were rougher than she would have liked, but she supposes she did make it hard on the other kids. She couldn't eat in the lunch room with the sound of everyone chewing with their mouths open, and she had to get changed in the single bathroom stall because two separate people complained about her changing with them for gym. She outed herself as a lesbian when she told them they weren't her type anyway. Turns out, they were being cruel about her being trans, not gay. But oh well, two birds one stone as the saying goes.
Still, Jayce, Mel and her parents are more than enough. She can hardly think about having enough time to make another friend, let alone fit them into her meticulous schedule if, heavens forbid, they wanted to see her more than once every four months.
But, she can’t deny that Jayce and Mel finally moving past their six year denial of feelings, and admitting they’re hopelessly in love, has thrown a spanner in the works. Sure, they wouldn’t mind if Caitlyn came on every outing they had (not that she’s anywhere near as social as they are - she likes to enjoy the comforts her home provides), but she knows they’d invite her either way. Caitlyn isn’t the best with social interactions and picking up what people are putting down - but she does hate being a third wheel.
The way Mel will lay her head on Jayce’s shoulder, all cute and whatever, but then Caitlyn has to ask her to repeat what she’s saying three times because Jayce is close enough to hear her heartbeat, let alone a muttering comment about the film they’re watching.
She already puts up with that with her parents but that’s their fault for not giving her a sibling. Now, she just sits in the middle of them and gives them commentary herself.
The thing is, Caitlyn knows how to make friends. It’s basic science. There’s a set of rules to follow. Smile on first introduction, don’t interrupt them to tell them they’re wrong (even if they are) and, without fail, she needs to tell them her last name.
Then, when the friendship is formed (she’s done enough surveys to know it takes four social outings, three random texts and at least six memes), and only then, can variables be introduced.
Oh, yes, Caitlyn Kiramman knows how to make friends.
She’s never learnt how to keep one.
It’s on her. She knows that it is. The difficulties people have when she refuses to switch up her routine and their face when she says something blunt. So, she knows it’s on her. Even then, Caitlyn’s sure if someone got through the first six to nine months with her, they’d get used to it. Like she got used to her school uniform after year one, even if they then changed the material again months later. Like she always travels to dinners out, even though she doesn't like driving in the dark and feels to bad to ask Steb to come and get her, just so someone doesn’t have to come to her place and have one of the same five meals she has frozen in her freezer.
She just can’t get anyone to stay that long. Though, nor does she try all that hard.
As a teenager, Caitlyn used to change so much about herself just to fit in. She found her teenage diary a few years back, and what was written down didn’t seem all that hard. Accepting last minute events, and letting someone borrow her pen even though she’d just managed to get it to fit her fingers perfectly, trying new foods even if there’s lots of different things touching each other. Simple things.
All simple things that almost killed her.
And after all that, it didn’t work anyway, and she’s down an eye. Now she’s twenty-eight with one eleven month relationship under her belt that only lasted that long because of who she is. All the money in Piltover, connections that anyone would die for, and she was still too much to put up with.
Now she’s right back at the start. A six year old waiting at the swings, with a dodgy hair cut, the wrong clothes on and no-one to meet at the park.
Caitlyn clears her throat as the farm house comes into view, and the cows are so far in the distance that they don’t drag her from the depths of self loathing. Caitlyn knows she’s a constant in the scenario of having no friends but she’s already unsuccessfully tried to rectify that. Because, surely, it was easier for her to change everything about herself than it was for people to allow some low level annoyance for a few hours a week - right?
However, after one too many meltdowns and a breakdown that rendered her bedbound for months, that wasn’t viable anymore. So, Caitlyn’s changed the other variables too. Gender, age, whether or not they work with her. Nothing ever stuck, because men wind her up, she can’t talk to a twelve year-old because she’s not a creep, and she started a non-profit and works by herself.
But, fuck, she’s tired and she’s lonely and she’s stuck on a trip to a farmyard in the middle of a drought because she’s come to the realisation it must be the people of Piltover.
Jayce likes her, though he’s not included in the statistics because he’s family. Mel likes her. Truly likes her! Caitlyn is sure of it and she’s Noxian. Ergo, it’s Piltover’s fault.
Noxus is too far away for her tests because, on the off chance everyone there thinks Caitlyn is great, she wouldn’t be able to see them often. And Caitlyn wants the chance to go shopping for something she doesn’t need, like the cute skirt she saw in a shop window and can't find an event for, with someone. She wants to grab a strawberry lemonade from a café she’s looked up the ratings for online and stroll through the markets for one fridge magnet and a coaster. All with someone. Therefore, Noxus was struck from her plans.
Zaun, however, is different enough to Piltover that she’s determined to get decent results. It’s close enough to home that she could travel, or her friend could visit her, without having to take days off work. It’s bright, and loud and sometimes smells a little like smog, but she can deal with all of those things. Especially on the outskirts with farm animals.
For a while, Caitlyn was sure being alone was fine. She has enough other things in her life to sustain her. She is happy, truly. But sometimes, she’s folding laundry at half eight on a Thursday (not sometimes. Every week) and wondering what it would be like to do that while on the phone. Perhaps they would talk about a film or a book they’ve both enjoyed reading. The mysterious friend might even like to come over for dumplings. Caitlyn might hate doing laundry and being on the phone, but a friend wouldn’t ditch her just for that, she’s sure.
But as she watches the dust from the farm track blowing through the open window, she wonders if she couldn’t have found somewhere else.
But she didn’t, and Cassandra Kiramman didn’t raise a quitter so Caitlyn grabs her four suitcases, says goodbye to Seb and drags them to the front of the large house.
“Hello,” she says as she enters the lobby.
There’s an alarm going off somewhere, the ceiling fan wobbles like it’s about to hit her in the head and there’s a guy behind the makeshift desk, with white dreads staring at her like she has four heads.
Caitlyn has already engaged in conversation, and he hasn’t said anything in return. He seems content to look back at the desk until it’s sufficiently awkward enough that she walks straight back out.
“Hello, I’m Caitlyn Kiramman,” she says instead. She got a touch of motion sickness in the car and she’s not about to travel back home if she can help it. She has a plan, and she’s not deeming this study a failure before she’s even had time to make notes. “I’m here for the summer placement.”
“What?”
She pulls the forms from her bag, and places them on the desk. All signed and dated. She had her lawyer look through them, and though they had detailed comments to make on the forms themselves, both she, and the farm are protected should something go wrong.
“I received my welcome pack last Monday. I believe Violet is expecting me to start next week? I booked another week in advance so I can settle in.”
“You’re here to do our summer placement?” he asks, like that isn’t what she just said verbatim. He looks down at her, eyes swooping over her outfit. Tailored trousers, heeled boots and a light jumper. Perfectly acceptable clothing considering she’s not going to be doing farm work for seven days.
“Yes.”
“You - Caitlyn Kiramman… the one who runs the Kiramman Fund.”
She squints. “Are you having trouble understanding me? Is it my accent?”
He scoffs, his brows furrowing like she’s said something wrong. She’ll have to go over it later. There’s something in his posture that suggests he’s annoyed with her but she doesn’t have the time to figure it out right now. Maybe he’s frowning because he always frowns. She needs more days for data!
“Meals are in the main room,” he says, seemingly now sure that she is supposed to be here like she said. She gave him no new information, so maybe he simply does just believe her now. He hands her a map and some written descriptions of how to get to her room, with a key. “Every night at six on a workday.”
Right. Technically, she isn’t working for a week - so she’ll have to figure something out there.
“Okay,” she replies. “And will I meet Violet before Monday?”
“Why?”
Caitlyn clenches her palms. “So, I know the weekly schedule?”
“Just meet her by the barns at eleven.”
“In the morning?”
He frowns again. She’ll note that is clearly a character trait, and not about her. “Obviously.” Was it? She wants to ask but doesn't.
“And your name?”
He stares at her a moment longer, his gaze drifting towards her eyepatch. He knew who she was enough to balk at her being here. The missing eye shouldn't be shocking. “Ekko.”
Caitlyn nods, gives what she thinks is a smile but she can’t be sure, and leaves to grab her bags. It takes her a few moments to pack the documents, and pursue the map. It’s mostly clear that she needs to go to a door around the side of the building and hope only one of the rooms has the number 8 on. But before she can gather the annoyance that she’ll need to drag four bags up two flights of stairs, she hears Ekko on the phone.
“Pow, you’re never going to guess who's here… Kiramman! Yeah, the young one… Nah, she seems fine, I guess. Doubt we’ll see much of her, Vi’s gonna be on her knees for her by lunchtime and she’ll go back Topside with her heart in her pocket.”
She leaves before she can hear the rest of the conversation.
Caitlyn was prepared for this trip. It’s technically only six weeks on the actual farm, but she booked a week either side of her helping to attempt to regulate her routine and get used to the smells and the loud noises and the way these jeans dig into her waist. She starched them and everything, but now there's no rain to be seen and they're not sitting comfortably.
So far, she’s done her allotted facemask (though no friend to take the other, but that’s fine) and found the washing facilities to be decent. So she needn’t have bought so many socks. There’s a tree stump under shade and near the river that she likes to frequent at dinner time, with snacks she found at the nearest shop. It’s a three mile round trip, but the idea of asking to sit in on group dinners when it’s not a work day, is not something she can abide by. Besides, what if she can't eat it?
She’s walked the perimeter of the grounds, been glared at by no less than three people (she noted down perhaps it’s a Zauntie thing and not a Caitlyn thing) and has heard the woman in the neighbouring room to her have at least three orgasms. Caitlyn’s not here for that, nor does she have the headspace to even entertain the thought of a romantic relationship. She knows she wants one, but she figures getting a friend is easier. Then she’ll have someone to bounce ideas off of when she inevitably redownloads a dating app and uninstalls it on the same day.
All in all, she hasn’t done much. It’s been relaxing enough, even if the floors creak and doors slam when her neighbour wakes up at the crack of dawn. So, she’s been working through grant applications even though she’s supposed to have closed the foundation for summer. She still takes on emergency grant requests, but it turns out having a full week off isn’t something Caitlyn is designed for.
She’s giving the week a solid five out of ten. Her bedtime has changed from two am to eight pm, and she’s eaten nothing but pre-packaged sandwiches for six days.
But she never would have done this when she was younger- that’s got to count for something.
Caitlyn huffs as she checks out her outfit in the mirror, and changes into the dungarees she brought instead of the jeans. The weather says it’s dry and not too hot so those with her long sleeved light top, should be fine.
The nervous angel sits on her shoulder again, telling her then plan has already backfired, because the staff appears friendly to everyone but her. But she's holding out hope, because with all her wandering and watching people play football in the grass, she’s never seen Violet. So, she tucks her smaller notebook into the pocket in her dungarees and locks her room. Her hair is braided perfectly, and when she steps outside for the first time today, she feels something shift. Like this is the next stage of her life. A random Monday in the middle of her twenty-ninth year.
She carries that same thought, and the idea that she should ask someone if they've heard of her grant because there are some upgrades they could easily fund, all the way to the back of the barn, where she sees Violet. Caitlyn knows it’s her because on the blurry website photo, she has choppy pink hair and this woman has choppy pink hair.
The photo didn’t manage to highlight the sheer width of her shoulders and the black tattoo that runs down the back of her arms, but Caitlyn doesn’t mind the surprise.
“Good morning,” she says, trying for a friendly smile but the farmer’s back is still turned. Caitlyn sticks her hand out for a shake either way. “I’m Caitlyn Kiramman.”
The farmer grunts, “I know who you are, Princess.”
Caitlyn frowns, lowering her hand. This isn’t how this goes. Say hello, smile and give them her last name. It always works.
“Is there anything specific you need help with?” she asks, because Caitlyn doesn’t feel awkward often, but forty five seconds of being ignored is plain rude and she doesn’t want an argument on her first day if she can help it. She has ideas to tell them about new water troughs and the tractor that looks like it's from Back to the Future.
“No.”
Jokes on her, Caitlyn knows the routine of clearing out pig sty's like the back of her hand. She brought a mask just in case.
“I could clear out the sty, or the goats, if you’d prefer to do things separately?”
“Dressed like that?” she asks. Caitlyn isn’t as foolish as she was at six, when her mother could figure out what she was doing despite being faced the other day. Violet doesn’t have eyes in the back of her head. She’s making an assumption. Though, Caitlyn has dealt with a lifetime of those, and clothing choices are hardly going to make her falter.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”
Violet scoffs, which again, is rude and unhelpful but the sound settles in the pit of her stomach all the same. Caitlyn puts up with a lot to try and make friends, but she’s not sure she wants to be Violet’s. Study be damned. Maybe next year, she’ll go to Noxus.
“Are you always this rude to people here to help you?”
She barks out a laugh so heavy that Caitlyn watches as her back tenses with it. She really is fit.
“Princess,” she says, turning around. It’s truly a wonder Caitlyn catches the end of her spiel, because her face is something that renders her mostly useless. Holy fuck, she’s beautiful. Caitlyn tries to track the intricacies of her face - she's sure there's a scar on her upper lip - but she’s talking too fast. Something Caitlyn should be listening to, she’s sure, but Violet is simply unlike anyone she’s ever seen.
It’s probably a good thing she clearly doesn’t want to be friends, because Caitlyn will feel guilty checking her out every three seconds.
“...only just strolled outta the house after you’ve been here for a week, and now what am I supposed to fall to my knees because you’ve come from your mansion to help little old me on the farm?"
Caitlyn squints internally. Her mother taught her to hide her real emotions in high risk situations. This isn’t quite a negotiation to avoid full scale war, but she’s being looked at like she’s the enemy all the same. Zaun has problems with Piltover. Caitlyn isn’t naive enough to not know that. Even if she were blinded by riches and privilege, it would have come up in her extensive research.
She just didn’t factor it into people disliking her, for hundreds of years worth of conflict, when she’s barely thirty years old. Truly, she understands the plight, or she tries too. It’s why she approves grants at a higher rate for Zaun than she does anywhere else.
However, Caitlyn isn’t going to take someone being rude, even if they do blame her for the economical difficulties they faced as a child. It doesn’t change the facts. Caitlyn isn’t due to start working until ten am on Monday 24th, which is in twenty minutes from now.
“Someone at the front desk suggested you would get on your knees for me so fast I’d be out of here by the weekend.” It’s not what she meant to say, but she gets flustered when she’s wound up. Better that than immediately start crying, which frustratingly, is an option that appears like it might come to fruition earlier than she’d like.
Vi glances away, her frown never lessening. Her face gets redder, but Caitlyn doesn’t have the time to figure that out right now.
“Don’t worry yourself Kiramman, you’re not my type.”
“Heartbroken,” Caitlyn replies coolly as something embarrassing flips in her chest. Caitlyn has been showered with compliments before, and she has a functioning brain and two degrees she’s never going to use again. She knows attractiveness is subjective. Anything can stop someone from being a type. Caitlyn’s money, or influence or perhaps her accent. It could be any of those, but with the way Violet stares at her, she’s going to make an educated guess that it’s her face.
Maybe it’s so gutting because she’s never seen someone like her before. As if someone has rooted into the hidden most corners of her mind, plucked someone from the folds of her heart and shoved them into the body of all her hopes and desires.
Violet scoffs like Caitlyn is the one being offensive. She’d never tell someone to their face she thought they were ugly. How unbecoming. She tracks through their limited interaction to see if there’s something she did wrong. It does appear that people from Zaun don’t appreciate her last name - but there’s nothing she can do about that because she applied with her last name and they accepted her.
“Are you going to show me around,” Caitlyn asks, “or I don’t know, be polite to someone you requested to come and help?”
She barrels up from her position on the ground like a whirlwind that’s about to spin out of control. Caitlyn’s sure she’s not even doing anything in the corner, she’s just trying to ignore her. Now, she looks ready for a fight, but also not quite like she’s going to hit her. Caitlyn isn’t nervous, she’s been trained to get out of a hold with someone stronger than her.
“I didn’t ask you to come,” Violet seethes. Caitlyn supposes that’s true, but an advertisement saying ‘help needed’ is basically the same thing. “I didn’t ask for you to be here, even after - after -”
“After what?”
Violet shakes her arms out. Oh, perhaps she will get hit today.
“I didn’t ask you to say you’re going to help and then not show up for a week. Like you can just do what you want. Like this place is yours and not something I am working myself to the bone to keep. It might work for you with the other Piltie’s because they’ll do anything to be near a Kiramman but around here, we help each other. Not just skim off the top and refuse to let anything trickle down.”
“Oh, my sincere apologies,” Caitlyn responds, there’s an embarrassing burn at the back of her throat that she’s sure is obvious all over her face. “I suppose I stumbled upon this place while out walking, and just happened to have weeks worth of stuff with me when I requested a stay. I certainly didn’t see an advertisement asking for assistance, masquerading as a summer placement, anywhere.”
Violet scowls at her. Jokes still on her because Caitlyn has seen scarier people in her lifetime. And she has a cute face under that frown. Her anger doesn’t take that away.
“People get shit outta working here.”
“I’m sure they do, Violet,” Caitlyn says truthfully. After all, there really was a reason she picked this place. “Perhaps when they’ve figured out how to say hello to you without having their head bitten off.”
She looks away. Not an apology but Caitlyn has studied expression enough to know it’s an admission of guilt if there ever was one.
“Whatever,” she mutters, turning away again. Caitlyn’s not going to ask her for guidance again. She’s got her books and her notepads and she saw the cows in the Eastern end of the field on her walk over. Once of them has to be called Steve.
“Well, have a nice day, Violet,” she says as she walks away. Caitlyn clenches her fists as she leaves. Annoyance and something that feels a little too like tears claw at her throat. It’s supposed to be easier than this. And even if it’s not, she’s supposed to be able to figure out what she did wrong.
People don’t like her once they get to know her. People aren't supposed to hate her before they’ve even spoken.
Caitlyn’s not sure what to do with that.