If I was to be completely honest with myself, I know that I don't belong here. My name is Finch and through some shocking recruitment oversight I was recently indoctrinated into the League of Legends. When I first heard that I'd been called-up to this illustrious institution I was brimming with excitement, but that quickly died out shortly after I arrived. You see, I soon realized that I was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, the worst champion here.
Don't get me wrong, I'm not completely useless. I was the absolute best marksman from the small town that I came from and I've won more local gun tournaments that I can count. But that certainly doesn't mean I'm cut out for the League. Every other champion here is, quite simply, a legend. They've all got amazing back stories and have completely mastered their chosen art of combat.
Me? I'm in my mid-thirties, have no history involving real fighting, and while I'm not exactly fat per say, I'm not really in the best shape of my life either. All I can do is shoot well. And being able to shoot a far-away target when you have all the time in the world to aim and prepare is completely different from live combat. (Trust me, I've learnt that the hard way).
It didn't take long for people (summoners and other champions alike) to start grumbling about whether I was really worthy to be in the League. They knew I wasn't good enough. I knew I wasn't good enough. Everyone knew I wasn't good enough. Why, then, have I not saved myself the embarrassment and just left the League? Why have I not simply packed my bags, called it a day and departed this institution for good?
The answer is simple. The women.
The women of the League are out-of-this-world. Almost each and every one of them are unbelievably attractive – supermodels and superwarriors at the same time. But, although they are all undeniably sexy, there are some who possess… assets… that make them stand out from the crowd. You know exactly what I mean. And you probably know exactly which ones I'm talking about too.
Basically the entire reason I haven't left the League yet is this desperate hope I have that I could somehow get lucky with one of them. Listen, I'm not a stranger to sex or anything. I may not be 'attractive' in the strictest sense of the word, but back in my hometown I got the pick of the girls due to my awesome shooting ability. There's nothing a rural towngirl likes better than to say she's slept with the guy who's just won the big gun tournament, even if he's a tad bit odd-looking. Some of those local girls were actually pretty damn attractive, but none of them – and I mean none – could hold a candle to the ladies of the League. And in terms of curviness, it's a different ball game all together.
So who, I hear you ask, have I slept with so far? Who have I had the honour, the privilege, the downright joy of bedding so far? The answer is no one.
I've been here two months and I've banged a grand total of nada, zero, zilch. The League of Legends, in terms of both men and women, is a melting pot of talent and attractiveness. My ability with a gun, while definitely good enough to get me laid in my hometown, is considered average or mediocre here in the League. And it's not exactly like I've got any good-looks to fall back on. If I was around a 6 in the real world then I'm a 2 in the League, and that's if I'm being generous.
Believe me, I've tried talking to some of the women here. Every single night I go down to the local Champion's Bar and I initiate conversations with the girls there, with all the confidence of someone who has absolutely nothing to lose. But the ladies just don't seem interested, and I can't exactly blame them. When there are attractive, talented, legendary guys around, why would they want to have sex with the new guy who everyone says sucks in the field of battle? Look, maybe I could have done things better. I admit, my eyes do tend to wander when I'm talking to the more busty of the ladies (Riven, Leona, etc), but I do think that my persistent efforts should have been rewarded at least once by now.
I was on the verge, the edge, the cusp of giving up when something happened earlier this morning that gave me fresh hope – at least a glimmer of a chance. It didn't happen in the Champion's Bar, it happened during an actual match. Let me tell you about it.
This morning – by an act of either incredible stupidity, naivety or drunkenness – I was for some reason picked for a match. I wasn't really too thrilled about getting my ass handed to me again, but I got my gear together and started getting prepared for the fight. It was only when I got down to the field of battle that I saw the team-sheets. And when I saw who I was laning with, I didn't care about anything else in the whole goddamn world.
Bottom Lane: Finch & Miss Fortune.
Sarah Fortune is, in my professional opinion, the most incredibly, unbelievably sexy woman in the entire League, and, by extension, the whole of Valoran. It's not just the redhead thing, although I've always had a thing for that (who hasn't?). With her full, pouty lips, sea-green eyes and flawless skin, her face alone would have been enough to guarantee her a career as a famous poster-model. But man, Sarah Fortune has much more going for her than just her face.
Always in her trademark tight black leather pants, Sarah's ass is a thing a legend. The sway of her hips is downright hypnotic, and you can just tell that her generous rear is so tight that one firm slap would cause a sound that would echo through time and space itself (if only someone was lucky enough to perform such an action – although certainly someone must have).
Sarah always keeps her midriff and navel uncovered, taunting the world with her incredibly slender waist. (In fact, her hip-to-waist ratio is simply staggering). But all of this, every single thing that I have just described – her face, her ass, her waist – all of this could be very easily be thrust to side-lines, overlooked, when compared to Sarah's most famous assets.
Sarah's breasts are simply huge. I'm no expert on boob sizes, but hers have to be upwards of an E Cup. The busty redhead does very little to hide her enormous chest, and always wears clothes that show off a cleavage so deep that it becomes almost literally magnetic to male eyes. One glance of her breasts is enough to fill a guy's wank bank for at least a week, and I have no doubt that guys in their hundreds fantasize regularly about her ample chest (myself included, of course). Sarah's enormous tits, when coupled with her incredibly slender waist, seem to defy logic. How is that combination even possible? Whatever the case, Sarah is a perfect 10 in all respects, even by the high standards here in the League.
I'd talked to Sarah only once before, since she rarely ever visits the Champion's Bar. As soon as I'd seen her I got up to try my luck – even if the chance of bedding her was indescribably small I knew I'd forever regret not at least rolling the dice. But in my haze of lust I hadn't been able to control my eyes.
"Listen," she'd said, after around half a minute of fairly lame conversation, "If all you want to do is stare at my tits then you might as well take a fucking picture and get lost."
For a moment I had wondered if she was serious (a real picture of her breasts, even covered, would've immediately become my all-time favourite possession) but I decided not to risk a punch. I couldn't really blame her for instantly rejecting me – with a body like hers she could've had her pick of anyone in the damn world. True, her tone had been a tad bit bitchy, but I had hardly expected a teddy-bear demeanor from a famous bounty hunter anyway. I was, back at that time, perfectly content just to have seen her up close and talked to her a little, no matter how brief it was. After all, among all the voluptuous ladies of the League she could very well have the largest, most drool-worthy chest.
And now I was laning with her.
Like any other red-blooded man, I began fantasying possible scenarios where I could impress her enough that she'd somehow agree to have sex (or at the very least, maybe I could 'accidentally' brush against her boobs during the intensity of combat?). In any rate, I'd at least get to talk to her. And if she was in a good mood, who knew where it could lead?
I rushed over to bottom lane and the twenty-two year old busty redhead was already there waiting for me (I was a little late). In the full light of day her breasts looked even larger than I remembered, if that was even possible. Nonetheless, the expression on her face made it abundantly clear that she was annoyed I'd been picked as her lane partner.
I cleared my throat. I really wanted to say something witty and intelligent, but all I managed was:
"So…nice day for a fight, isn't it?"
She ignored my stupid question.
"Look," she said firmly, stepping closer with some measure of authority (dat jiggle doe). "My ratio hasn't been good recently so I need a win here today. No small-talk. We're not friends. I need you to focus this match, alright?"
So much for her being in a good mood.
The match started and we both did our jobs in silence. Sarah was a complete professional, laying waste to the enemy creeps with her iconic, exquisite twin pistols, Shock and Awe. From her performance and effort it was evident that she really needed this win. For my part, I was determined to impress her. She too was a marksman, a shooter. If I could impress anyone with my shooting ability, it would be her.
Unfortunately for me, sometimes no matter how hard you try it just doesn't work out. I simply couldn't concentrate – I kept darting glances to Sarah's chest and messing up my shots. You really can't blame me – her breasts were bouncing wildly as she leapt around, and I thought there was a genuine chance that they might slip free from their evil constraints (if that happened, I definitely did not want to miss it). We were soon on the back foot in bottom lane, and it quickly became clear that we were going to lose the whole match.
As we were slowly pushed back to our own base Sarah suddenly swore profanely. I looked over at her, and upon noticing how frustrated she was I actually felt a little guilty that I hadn't been able to perform my best.
It was then that I noticed something else entirely. The whole match I'd been focusing on Sarah's figure rather than her form, but when I actually watched her shoot I came to a slow, gradual realization of something that seemed so absurd that I had to check it again and again.
I was better than her.
Now hear me out, because I bet you don't believe me at all. Hell, I barely believed it myself. Listen: when Sarah fired her guns her initial shots almost always missed, but she was always able to kill her targets through the sheer firepower of her automatics pistols. The truth was, her actual accuracy was quite…bad. It would have been very difficult for anyone but a trained marksman to notice this.
I realized that if I put my mind to it and actually concentrated, I was actually a better shooter than her. Of course, Sarah was still the better champion overall. She got way more kills than me because of her incredible firepower rate, not to mention she avoided falling in battle much more as well because she was agile and quick, unlike me.
But strictly in shooting, I was better. My mind began to race - How could I possibly use this new information to my advantage?
The match ended in defeat.
Sarah came over to me, her exquisite face flushed red in frustration, and made it clear what she thought of my performance that match.
"What the hell was that?" she asked, breath heavy and chest heaving. "You missed so many clear shots! What's wrong with you?"
I didn't really know what to say. "Bad day at the office, I suppose. I'll make it up to you, drinks on me?"
She ignored me again.
"How were you even chosen to be a champion here? You should've been kicked out by now, damn it!"
The shadow of an idea popped into my mind. Could it work? Would it work?
I crossed my hands, trying to play it cool. "Hey, at least I'm better than you."
Sarah was silent, her mouth partly open in shock at what I'd said.
"Excuse me?" she eventually spat, hands on her hips, eyes narrowing in aggravation.
"You heard me."
Sarah looked around mockingly as if searching for someone to share in the stupid claim that I was making. (Damn it, even when she was being blatantly bitchy she was so incredibly hot).
"I'm a world-famous bounty hunter. I've been in the League for years!" She took a step closer, and I seriously almost got a semi-chub for being so close to the riled-up redhead. "And who are you? Some up-jumped town boy who somehow managed to bribe his way in here! You've been a 'champion' two months now and haven't won a single match!"
That wasn't exactly true. I had won one match, although to be fair my team had carried me in that game. Nonetheless I decided to let the incorrect comment slide and move on to Phase Two of my newly formulating plan.
I took a step closer myself. Sarah stood her ground. Our faces were pretty damn close - I could see in her every facial expression just how annoyed she was at me.
"All the same, I'm still better than you." I said. I let that hang in the air for a second before adding, "And I'd even be willing to bet on it."
The exasperated Sarah took the bait immediately.
"Fine!" she said, "But when I win, you go straight to the League administration centre and resign!"
"That's fine by me," I said, smirking freely. I must've seemed like such a moron to her – the worst champion in the entire League betting his career against the acclaimed bounty hunter.
"How do we do this damn bet then?" Sarah asked, already thinking about how to most quickly get it over with to force me out of the institute.
"Hold on a minute," I interjected. "What do I get if I win?"
The look Sarah gave me in response clearly suggested that she hadn't even conceived any possibility of me winning (which, to be honest, wasn't completely unreasonable on her behalf).
"I don't know – Anything!" she said, exasperated. "What do you even want!?"
This was a crucial juncture. What did I truly want? The exact same thing that you would've wanted. To tear open her tight blouse and grope/squeeze the hell out of those enormous tits all day long. But I couldn't exactly say that – I'd get kicked in the balls if was lucky, shot in the face if wasn't. My whole plan would essentially be over before it began. No, I had to play this smart.
"Hmm…" I pretended to think about it. "If I win I get…how about your guns? Shock and Awe, I believe they are called? If I win, I get those."
For the first time in the entire conversation, a shadow of doubt crossed over Sarah's features. It was understandable – she'd had those two guns for as long as she could remember. They were undeniably her most prized possessions and on the battlefield they had become an extension of her will as a fighter. Nonetheless, her reluctance only held for half a second. There was, quite simply, not a single doubt in her mind that she would win.
"Deal!"
"Awesome, this will be fun," I said, smiling stupidly. "Shall we take this to the gun range, then? It's nearby."
Another crucial juncture. If Sarah had insisted we decide this bet through a full League practice match, then I'd already have lost before we even began. Lucky for me, the gun range must've seemed like the most efficient and quick method of getting this sorted.
"Whatever," she said. "The gun range, fine. Come on, and hurry up."
The gun range was where all the marksmen champions of the League honed their shooting skills, and it was pretty close to the field of battle. Sarah led the way, walking at a brisk and impatient pace. Although my eyes were glued to her leather-clad ass, my mind – for once – was elsewhere.
My plan was turning out perfectly. Sarah Fortune was a better champion than me in virtually every way – she was more quick, more agile, more responsive, more experienced. But the one thing – the one thing – that I was possibly better than her at was shot accuracy. And at a gun range that was the sole variable that mattered. At a gun range all you do is shoot at a stationary target, and you have all the time in the world to aim your shot. I'd been doing that my whole life.
The gun range was my field of battle, and that's where we were playing out our bet. Sarah had no idea what she was getting into.
When we got to the gun range the whole place was empty, given that it was still fairly early in the day. We entered the nearest shooting booth and the first thing that Sarah did was set the target distance to the maximum distance possible.
Our shot target was a circular piece of reinforced metal with concentric circles numbered 1 to 10, with 10 being the smallest, most central circle – the bullseye. As I watched our target move to the very back of the compound I got a tad bit worried. The distance that Sarah had set was incredibly far, and I'd never been at any gun tournament in my local town with such a great target distance involved. When the target finally stopped moving and clicked into place it was virtually impossible to make out the numbers, even while squinting.
Before the target had even stopped swaying, Sarah had gotten up, unholstered her pistol Shock, and aimed it at the target with both hands.
"Best total score after three shots wins," she said simply.
Then she fired.
"Eight Points!" roared the automatic tannoy system.
It had truly been a great shot. For a moment I doubted whether I had been correct in my assessment of her during our earlier match.
Sarah blew the residue smoke from her pistol barrel, and turned over to look at me, one strand of red hair falling over her eyes. "You might as well go pack your bags now," she said smugly, making room for me to shoot.
I tried to shake any doubt from my mind. I was a better shooter than her, I just knew it. Raising my own gun – which was recently named Deathfyre (does that sound cool?) – I took aim.
"I'll be surprised if you hit the target at all," mocked Sarah softly from the sidelines. She had a point. The target distance was so far that it was a real achievement in itself to hit any number at all. I suspect that Sarah herself was pleasantly surprised to have hit such a high number on her first attempt.
I ignored Sarah's jibes and took a deep breath. I reminded myself of what could potentially happen if I won the bet.
I pulled the trigger.
"Nine Points!" roared the tannoy.
Elation rose within me and I immediately turned to see Sarah who had a look of utter incredulity etched on her face.
"Lucky shot…" she said, before stepping into position, this time using her pistol Awe. She fired.
"Seven Points!"
She still seemed confident, if somewhat shaken. Surely she was thinking that my last shot was a fluke which I couldn't possibly repeat. I got into position myself and took aim.
"Nine Points!"
The overall score was now 15 to 18 in my favour, with each of us having one shot left. This time Sarah didn't say anything at all. She seemed utterly perplexed at what was happening. If things had not been working out so incredibly well for me, I may even have been a little offended that she had thought so little of my shooting ability beforehand.
Sarah took aim with Shock, then bent down to pick up Awe instead, before again changing her mind and settling on Shock. When she aimed this time she took much longer to fire than her previous shots. As I watched her closely I knew that the shot wouldn't be good. She had broken the first rule of marksmanship – she was overthinking it. She fired.
"Four Points!" roared the tannoy.
Sarah didn't move. She stared at the target in disbelief, and then stared up at the tannoy speaker with equal confusion.
"Excuse me Sarah, I believe it's my turn," I said, trying to play it cool despite there being a festival of fireworks going on inside my head.
Sarah stepped aside slowly. We both knew what could happen next. As long as I hit anything higher than a one I was going to win. I held up Deathfyre and tried my best to concentrate. I still had a job to do, and god knew I didn't want to fuck up right there at the end.
I thought back to a moment just passed when Sarah had bent down to change her guns. Her action had given me a direct look at her massive, exemplified cleavage. She really shouldn't have done that. That sight alone was the best possible motivation in the world. I fired.
"Ten Points!"
Sarah had no words to speak as I slowly lowered my gun and blew the residue smoke from the barrel. I then holstered it and turned to face Sarah. The redhead slowly looked down at her two prized pistols that she was holding in both hands.
I stepped closer and very tentatively reached out for her weapons. As soon as I made contact with the guns her face shot up at me in anger, and I thought she might lash out or hit me or something. Instead, her features and body slowly became more resigned and she reluctantly loosened her grip on her pistols. Gently I pried them free from her fingers and held them myself. They were heavy.
"I promise I'll take good care of them," I said to the blank-faced Miss Fortune. I then tried to do a cool twirl-thing but it failed and I very nearly dropped one of them onto the hard floor. Trying to retain any vestige of coolness, I holstered the weapons in my pockets.
"Well that was fun. We should do it again sometime." I would've held out my hand to her, but I knew that she would of course not have shaken it.
"Just go…" she muttered, her eyes fixated on her cherished weapons wedged into my dingy trouser pockets.
I gave her a big smile, took one final glance at her ample bosom, and then turned to leave.
So that's what happened earlier this morning. Since then this whole day has passed as if in a dream – I actually have some genuine leverage over the sex goddess that is Sarah Fortune.
And guess what? I'm looking at her right now – she's in the distance, at the end of the street walking towards me. Even in the low glare of the evening street lamps, I'm certain it's her. I can tell from the way that the men nearby turn to stare, to gape, to take mental photographs.
As for me, I'm watching her through the window of a civilian bar on the outskirts of the institute. I knew that she'd find me eventually – she's a bounty hunter, after all. No doubt at all that she's here to bargain for beloved guns back.
I heard that she'd been chosen in two other matches today and was forced to use regular pistols, to the confusion of summoners and her fellow champions alike. Apparently she performed worse during those two matches than even I have been performing recently, and that's saying something.
She wants Shock and Awe back. And every red-blooded man knows what it is that I want in return. But, to be perfectly honest, I'm getting more nervous with every tit-jiggling step that Sarah takes towards me. I know that the ball is in my court. I know that I hold the aces. But there's a huge chance that I could still fuck this up. I need to be very careful in the conversation that I'm about to have with her. It's no small feat to convince a woman that looks like Sarah Fortune to do what I am planning on asking her to do.
Please, if you have any suggestions of what I should say to convince her, let me know now. Holy crap, she's just entered the bar, and everyone just went silent. Guys are standing up to make room for her as she weaves her way through this busy place. She's changed her clothes from the morning - her new attire seems even more revealing than usual. Every male eye in the shop is on her, but she's walking straight to me… Quick! If you have any tips for me this is the time to say them! She's close now, and my throat is drying up. Any last-second advice is most sorely welcome. She's reaching for a chair, and as she leans over slightly I'm treated to a splendid view. What was it that I was going to say again?
