"Welcome to the Howling Abyss."
Morgana stepped off of the Summoning pad, impatiently waving away the kindly old shop keeper's prattle. If she was quick, she could make it to the bushes along the side of this wretched ice bridge before the enemy team flooded it. Her breath came out in a cloud of glittering crystals, and she crossed her arms over her ample chest, her wings pulled tight against her back, crimson eyes narrowing.
She hated this map.
Sure enough, the poros were bouncing about, a clear indication that no one else had come into range to scare the rather simple creatures. As she slipped into the frosted foliage, she became aware of the presence of another: Janna Windforce. Though normally built like a support, she was a force to be reckoned with on this map. The woman was incredibly agile and the blonde felt quicker just being on the same team as her.
"…"
"…?"
"…"
"… Why are you staring at me like that?" the pale, white-haired woman finally asked, her voice sonorant—as though carried by the wind.
Morgana's brows were drawn together thoughtfully, the frightening red glow that normally suffused her gaze blazing in her concentration. "Your top… How does it remain in place?"
White eyes blinked, confusion flooding pretty features. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
She shook her head, blonde tresses shifting around her in a golden curtain. "It's nothing."
As she shuffled back out of the concealing brush, the support floated serenely behind her. "I could ask the same of you," she commented, pointing at the strapless top—they were more cups affixed to her breast than anything—the Fallen Angel wore. "And yours are even larger."
"DEMACIA!"
"Are they?" Without blinking, Morgana whirled and cast a Dark Binding, the blood-red ball of energy colliding with the brave, handsome brunette knight who had (foolishly) thought to target her and stopping him in place in a cage of magical energy, still spinning. Tormented Soil made the snow beneath him bubble poisonously.
"Garen, whose breasts are bigger: mine or hers?" Janna asked, her Zephyr chunking his health even as she spoke.
His face flushed and he didn't seem to be aware of how much damage he was taking. "W-what?"
Morgana snorted and waved her hand, a single auto attack more than enough to send him back to base.
"First blood."
Likely in more ways than one.
"You're asking the wrong person."
"Who else is around?"
A shrill cackle erupted from the bush closest to them and both women turned, the support summoning up a Howling Gale to knock whoever the laugh belonged to—Veigar, as it turned out—out of the foliage, interrupting whatever spell he was planning on casting, and the AP Carry sent forth another Dark Binding; their team arrived with perfect timing and set upon the poor unbalanced yordle like a flock of Swain's crows.
Second blood went to the Prodigal Explorer, Ezreal.
"Well we certainly can't ask him," Janna laughed.
"No. In any case, I find it's better to seek answers from another woman."
The Storm's Fury tilted her head, raising her staff to surround the aforementioned AD Carry with a protective Eye of the Storm without even looking in his direction. "It would seem that you're out of luck, then. "All random" gave us a team of males."
"Would ye lassies stop smacking yer gobs?" one of said males, a salty pirate brandishing a pistol and a cutlass, demanded. He stuffed an orange into his mouth—skin and all!—and fired a Parrrley at what appeared to be a gelatinous green blob oozing over the frosty earth.
"Women," the cowboy leaning against the turret scoffed.
His ex-partner smacked him over the head with the barrel of his shotgun. "You're not helping, either, Twisted Fate. Get your ass over there and—"
Morgana rolled her eyes, destroying the last remaining blob with a small, slow-moving bolt of magical energy.
"An enemy has been slain."
"There, happy?"
No, no they weren't.
It took nearly fifteen minutes to push into the enemy team's base and, by that point, Morgana was on a Rampage—her only death being an execution by Turret earlier on, after which she had gone back to fetch a Zhonya's and finish her Liandry's Torment.
With a bit of luck, ARAM was a complete joke.
"Godlike."
The spell-caster blinked. Who—
Janna was… Janna was pole-dancing of all things in the middle of the lane, a confident smirk on her lips as she threw another whirling tornado. Her spree had allowed her to build quite a bit of AP and her spells were doing amazing things to the enemies' health bars.
When she saw Morgana's look of disbelief, the support waved and blew a kiss, a peal of laughter leaving her a moment later as Garen—poor Garen—was thrown into the Turret by a well-timed Monsoon, a Howling Gale preventing him from escaping the laser blasts it emitted.
"An enemy has been slain."
"This is fun," the Storm's Fury chirped.
"You got lucky," Morgana scoffed.
"Aww… Are you upset because your spree can't measure up to mine?"
The blonde scoffed again, her hands glowing crimson as tendrils of like-coloured energy lashed out, chaining themselves to the enemy Veigar, Udyr, and Darius. Her Black Shield negated the stun from the tiny mage's Event Horizon and she side-stepped the burly man's axe and the wild man's claws, slipping calmly into the midst of the three; her Soul Shackles snapping a moment later, the Void Staff in her hands allowing the spell to deal what was essentially true damage to eradicate what remaining health they had possessed—
"Triple kill!" Followed by, "Godlike."
The Fallen Angel smirked triumphantly, making a show of twirling her weapon. "You were saying?"
"I was saying that you're being shown up by a support," Janna responded, smiling beatifically.
"'Shown up'?" the spell-caster repeated, incredulous. "Surely you jest."
Another peal of laughter left the white-haired woman—this one mocking—and an entire wave of minions disappeared to one of the windy vortexes she could send forth every 12 seconds or so. "There's no shame in it, Morgana. Supports flourish on this map."
There was a challenge—a suggestiveness—in her tone that the immortal found she couldn't quite brush off. Her temper flared, her wings spreading and sending red, white, and gold feathers to the ground where a puddle of poison soon bubbled. "Listen, tiny tits…"
She had honestly been spending far too much time with that foul-mouthed bruiser that the Dark Child was so fond of…
"Excuse me?" the support demanded.
Her volume and inflection caused their teammates to stop and stare, gazes shifting warily from one woman to the other. They hadn't paid any mind to the mages' exchange up until now, but they were certainly listening now.
"You heard me."
"Who do you think you—"
"You did say that mine are bigger."
"The bigger they are, the faster they fall," Janna snapped, a little maelstrom of wind and snow starting up around her, making long white tresses dance.
The enemy team was actually watching as well by this point, the conflicting mages far more interesting than running down a single lane to one's death over and over again.
"Do you think they'll fight?" Garen whispered to Ezreal.
The blonde man shrugged. "Doubtful. There's no friendly fire."
"And how would you know that?"
"My breasts are just fine." She waved a hand towards the bottom side of the lane. "Ask any of them."
"They're terrified of hurting your fragile feelings," Morgana snorted dismissively. "After all, your head is full of the element you love most."
It took Janna a moment to realize what the blonde was implying; a dark look flashed across her face and a Zephyr darted past her to strike the mage, unbidden.
The Fallen Angel calmly raised a glowing hand and a barrier comprised of hexagonal blue tiles shimmered into existence to protect her from damage and the slowing effect the spell possessed.
But her Black Shield couldn't have possibly prevented the sudden gust from snatching away the itty bitty yellow and white top she wore, sending it drifting lazily to the snow.
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
"…"
The silence was deafening; jaws dropped, eyes blinked disbelievingly, and trousers suddenly became tighter.
"I—" Janna began, actually feeling a sliver of guilt for what had transpired.
Without a word, the immortal marched over to where the support hovered and yanked off the blue breastplate she wore, tossing it to the snow with a solid 'clank.'
Red eyes met white ones, daring the other woman to do something.
But Janna's attention was elsewhere, a pink tint washing across pale cheeks. "Yours… Really are larger."
A slow, knowing smirk crossed red-painted lips. "Are they?" This time, it was asked in a low, inviting purr and there was a dull 'THUD' as Garen actually fainted. The sound seemed to return the blonde mage to the moment because she drew her wings close to her torso, a privacy curtain of crimson-tipped feathers. "Would you care to compare somewhere more… Private?"
She offered a delicate hand and the support grinned, a heat in her gaze that could have melted the snow around them if they hadn't been focused so intently on Morgana. "Let's."
As the pair disappeared in a flurry of wind and multicoloured feathers, the majority of remaining Champions were left to stare up at the sky, mouths still agape.
"What's the big deal?" Ezreal demanded, nudging Garen with his the toe of his boot. "Come on, we have to finish the match!"
"A Summoner has disconnected."