Tulips and Daisies : Cait and Vi Meet as Teens

Truancy

Caitlyn Kiramann woke with a sore throat. Or so she told her parents, holding her covers to her chin, as morning light spilled through silken parted drapery.

"Well, you don't feel warm to me," said Cassandra sitting on the edge of her daughter's bed. "I leave it to the expert." Caitlyn's mother walked out of the room, leaving her husband behind. 

Tobias looked behind to make sure his wife was out of earshot, sat beside his daughter, and smiled. "Let me take a look. Say ah." 

Caitlyn opened her mouth averting her guilty eyes. Her father was a doctor and so she knew she could not fool him. "Okay close. Let me feel." With gentle fingers, he touched just under her jaw, just beneath the ears gently. He took back his hands and watched his daughter squirm under the sheets, avoiding eye contact. He glanced at the half finished book on her nightstand, then stood and looked out the window.

"You know, it is a gorgeous day outside. If I had the entire day to myself, I would likely go to the gardens in the park, sit on a bench, and read all day long." He turned to look at her. "Yes. I might also," he said, fishing in his pocket for the coins he placed quietly on his daughter's nightstand, beside her book, "get lunch at the bakery across the street."

A voice startled the pair who had, up to that point, been looking at one another with complicit smiles. "So?"

"The patient's throat is striated and her tonsils look just a little swollen. I think it best she stay home from school today."

Cassandra rushed to her daughter, leaned near, caressed her hair, kissed her brow. "Oh, darling. I hope you get to feeling well. I wish I could stay with you. Maybe I should skip the meeting..."

"No, no," said her husband. "It's just a little cold. At her age, she'll make a miraculous recovery. Why, I wouldn't be surprised if a few hours of sleep wouldn't cure her altogether."

"Fine. Feel better soon, my love." And with that, Cassandra and Tobias Kiramman exited the room.

Caitlyn waited under the sheets counting to one hundred, then she sprung out of bed with youthful energy and readied. It was out of sheer habit that she begun to dress in her school uniform. Before she knew it, she'd put on the white ruffled blouse and pleated blue skirt. She sighed when she looked in the mirror, realizing what she'd done. Shaking her head with a self-mocking smile, she combed her lustrous hair. She chose the matching blue vest, strapped on her cognac leather boots and opened the window to the world, feeling the sun's feeble morning rays on her face.

Caitlyn did not walk the city streets. Without knowing, she strutted, lean and proud. Nodding at strangers in monocles, waistcoats, and top hats, she held fast to the straps of her leather backpack. She'd grown just a bit taller than her mother, and boys at her school stammered when they attempted to talk to her. She understood why. She wouldn't have acknowledged these facts out loud, or even to herself, for the girl was not smug, but she exuded that quiet confidence beauty imparts on a select few. A confidence underscored all the more by the acuity of her intellect. 

Caitlyn did not, however, pour over her charm, wit or good looks as she made her way. Under the gaze of Piltover's architectural wonders, those marble skyward buildings gilded gold, domed royal blue, all she could think about was the book in her backpack and how wonderful it would be to sit with herself on this perfect, warm afternoon. 

And she did find herself under the shade of a tree in the park, where chirping birds and swaying foliage welcomed her. She half expected to see her mother at the bench by the pond where they inevitably wondered each time they sauntered the gardens. She took out her book from her bag, leaned back, and was immediately interrupted.  

The sound, something like a grunt or cry, came from somewhere near. She stood and looked about. There, crouching under a shaded bench in the distance, was a peculiar looking girl. She could just make out the pink hair. The girl was clearly hiding, but what from, she wondered, cocking her head to one side. Then she saw a portly policeman doing his best to run down the path. 

"Miss." He stopped, hands to his knees, breathless, "Have you seen a girl running through here?"

"A girl?" There is honor among truants, Cait thought to herself. Because, clearly, this girl was skipping school as well.

"Yes. Pink hair."

"Has she done anything wrong?"

"Never mind that, Miss."

"I have not. No."

The portly, mustachioed man waved and ran at turtle speed, breathing hard. Caitlyn looked towards the bench in the distance, but the girl had disappeared. Disappointed, she sat back down in the share wondering who the girl had been and what she'd done to incite such persistence from the lawman. She patted the spot beside her, expecting to feel the book she'd left. Not finding it, she looked down. Her heart sank. It was gone. 

"Do you make it a habit?" spoke a voice from behind the tree.

Caitlyn stood at once and rounded the thick tree trunk, but the girl eluded her.

"Of lying to enforcers?" added the voice.

"A simple thanks will suffice." Caitlyn crossed her arms. 

"Thank you," spoke the voice to her left. Turning her head, Cait startled at their proximity and took two steps back. The first thing she noticed was not her book in the girl's hand, but rather the torn fabric at the girl's knee.

"You're injured."

"Just a scratch."

Caitlyn crouched and rummaged through her bag, "wait here." 

Violet watched the girl as she made her way to the pristine pond which reflected the blue sky and white clouds like a mirror. The tall girl had been kind, she thought, smiling to herself softly. Touched, she watched the tidy girl in uniform approach with a wet handkerchief. The girl, Violet noticed, was very pretty.

"Sit," suggested Cait, tucking her skirt under her as she took a place beside her injured companion. Without asking, she raised the girl's pant leg and dabbed at the scrape on the knee, getting little pebbles and dirt out of it. She expected to hear the sounds of hissing at the sting of it, but the girl she tended to kept mum. "What's your name?"

"Violet."

"Like the flower. That's nice. Why was he after you, Violet?"

"Ask me no questions. I'll tell you no lies."

Caitlyn took a moment to look at the girl's smug face. Violet was clever, thought Caitlyn, smirking to herself. And cute. "Well it's obvious you're skipping school."

Violet let out a laugh. "Is that what you're doing?"

"You're not very good at answering questions."

"Let's just say school let out already where I'm from."

"Where are you from?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

Caitlyn looked Violet over in her periphery, at the tattered pants, at the awkward fitting shirt, at the worn soles and scuffed leather. She realized, with awe, and a giddiness she had to contain, that Violet was from the undercity. Her heart leapt. Today was going to be a good day.