Katarina was excited. In fact, she was so abuzz that she could hardly refrain from bouncing up and down.
Her younger sister Cassiopeia threw her a derogatory glance. "Cease your prancing." She ordered with the nasal arrogance only a nine year old could muster.
"How about you go and fuck yourself?" Katarina hissed, a curse she had only recently learned and was very keen on using ever since - despite (or maybe because of?) their mother's disdain at her newly acquired vocabulary.
Cassiopeia threw her hair back in a gesture she had surely practiced in front of the mirror. Right now it looked like nothing more than a practiced gesture; too stiff and without the poised elegance their mother possessed.
"You could just go to your room." Katarina pointed out, a little too late.
Cassiopeia only lifted her nose. "I have something to discuss with father." With that, she sat down on the stairs next to Katarina, her hands neatly folding in her lap, the picture of patience.
"And what might that be?" Katarina prodded, standing up now that her sister invaded her comfortable vantage point.
Cassiopeia's chubby cheeks puffed up. "None of your business, that is." She said, but the glint in her eyes told her redheaded sister that the younger girl was dangerously close to losing her temper.
"Sure." Katarina nodded, a smile forming on her face. "I think you are just nosy."
"Am not." Cassiopeia replied calmly, her eyes narrowing.
"Then go away!" The redhead prompted with tilting her head up the stairs, where Cassiopeia's room was.
Now the cold, pointed stare from Cassiopeia's piercing green eyes could have killed. "Am not!" She exclaimed louder and whiney.
Katarina grinned at her and lifted an eyebrow, a gesture she had practiced in front of the mirror more often than she cared to admit.
"AM NOT!" Cassiopeia yelled, but before she could throw herself at Katarina, the oaken front door opened and Katarina danced three steps down to look at the newcomer. Cassiopeia, regaining her calm within the blink of an eye, lifted herself up and dusted her clothes much more controlled.
He was back. Katarina's heart leaped and her fingers drilled into the wooden banister.
Her father's tall figure casted its shadow in the foyer and instantly, Katarina searched for someone standing next to him. At first, she was astonished to see…nothing, no one, just her father, making his way over the threshold, dragging a bag behind him. Now, Katarina flitted down the stairs to cover up her desired inspecting with the pretense of properly greeting him. There were so many questions to be asked. Didn't he retrieve what he had gone out for? A frown threatened to darken her mien. Her father had announced to go hunting for a shadow, so Katarina had expected for him to return in company - or soaked in blood - but coming back empty-handed? That hadn't been an option.
First, the fearful whispers of an assassin roaming the Noxian undercity, picking apart the smaller assassin-guilds one by one, had been easily dismissed as rumors. Words had needed two years to grow to her father's ears. It had taken even longer until he had attached enough importance to the rumors to go and check for himself. Katarina, for she had been the one soaking up the stories about the infamous shadow, had waited more or less patiently the whole day for him to come back. She didn't know what she had expected, but certainly not for her father to return reeking, with an expression on his face that converted his satisfaction. She needed another glance to detect that the thing he was dragging behind wasn't a particularly dirty bag of clothes, but rather a small, unconscious person, even though the features that normally made out a human were well-hidden beneath layers of grime, dried blood and things Katarina didn't even want to think about. From what she was able to see, the dragged form did not even have her size. Her shoulders sagged down in disappointment.
"What is that?" Cassiopeia twanged in her best imitation of their mother's voice, her arms akimbo. She sounded ridiculous, but their father's expression softened.
"A 'who' more than a 'what', darling." General Marcus Du Couteau corrected. "I think it is a bit early for an introduction." He said and effortlessly pulled the human bundle through the foyer. "I will do so as soon as he's awake. His name is Talon, though."
Now, Katarina was not only disappointed, but disgusted as well. This...Talon smelled like something pulled through the sewers first and out of them second, the unphysiological kinks in his leg indicated at least two fractures. It did not need a genius to see that this was someone probably around her age, hard to guess because of the filth he was covered with, wearing tattered rags for clothes, thin, malnourished, and clearly beaten to pulp. This thing here looked nothing like the shadow about which she had heard, nothing like the assassin she had expected. This was just a broken, bloody bag of flesh.
Luckily, Cassiopeia took the initiative and gave her thoughts a more verbal coat. "You cannot be serious! This thing will bleed all over the carpets!" She fretted, pointing to the dark trail Marcus - or the boy - had already left.
A rare smile twitched over their father's face, something that set Katarina on high alert instantly. "You will see. Spare your scorn for later, Cassiopeia." He nodded to a maid. "Get the healer." He ordered, and the maid bowed and vanished.
Katarina trailed behind her father, equally drawn and repulsed. As he lifted the heap that might or might not be a human somewhere inside to carry it up the stairs with an outstretched arm, movement came into the tangled mass. Just a winding motion and then twitching arms became visible, with fingers that curled like claws. Hardly like fingers at all, Katarina noticed, more like the talons of a bird of prey. Slits appeared in the beaten, bloodied face, revealing blood-injected eyes and, for a moment, Katarina was stunned. Pools of molten gold fixed on her, revealing nothing like fear, only a surprisingly cold, collected, impersonal, calculating indifference. Split lips curled back over bloodied teeth and a deep snarl, a threat like she had never heard one, rumbled through the boy's chest.
Her father only shook the neck he was holding like he'd shake a cat, and the feral eyes rolled up as the head sunk down again. "Quiet now. I'll introduce you later." Marcus promised, much softer than his harsh shake had been.
I have no idea why I like dragging/ carrying/ pulling the characters around so much.
I do imagine that it took quite a bit to force Talon into submission, so…the question was…would he be able to walk after taking a serious beating from General Du Couteau?