Cassiopeia had always been a snake. She slithered around the arm of any man and whispered into their ears sweet promises, but her eyes were sharp and her mind even more so. She was a seductress, blessed with the looks and position in society that made her so sought after. She knew the secrets to every Noxian lord of importance, and whenever foreign affairs were conducted, she was always sure to ease the diplomats with but a word and her slim fingers. I suppose it was only karma that she ended up actually becoming what she did, what she had always been…a snake.
Talon had returned from a mission, infiltrating some Demacian camp, slitting the throat of their general while he slept without alerting anyone. It was his signature. As an assassin, one must be able to kill, effectively and quietly, and none could cut a throat like he could. Deep and clean, swift, in truth, there was not possibly a single way to die that would be more painless than by his blade. The end always came quickly for his victims. He had that much mercy for them.
As a child, he grew up in the slums of Noxus. He knew the slow and agonizing pain that came with hunger, he knew the stinging pains from being beat bloody, and he knew the even worst of pains. He knew the pain that came with death. Although he himself never experienced it, he had seen it with his own two eyes. He could feel the warmth of crimson liquid upon his hand as he drove the blade in, further and further, the face of his partner twisted in pain, his mouth wide open, and yet, no sound emanated. He stared into the eyes of the first to die by his hands and saw the light fade away, saw the agony that his being shook with before falling lifeless.
Talon only wanted to live. He fought for food, for shelter, for survival, for in Noxus, only the strong survive, and it was most important here in the slums. And so, he became strong. Some might say he was the strongest, and, they would be right. That is, until a certain Noxian General challenged him to a duel. Talon was no stranger to his kind. "Join me and die," they would always say, some assassins from a guild or whatnot. But he soon learned the difference in their strength. Talon bent the knee, serving this man, this Du Couteau.
And, it was this same man who had given him his assignment. For any other assassin, the task would not have been so easy, but Talon was trained under the General, trained alongside his daughter, Katarina. Such a task was tedious, if anything, taking nothing from him but his time. Time was one thing he felt that he needed most, right now, time for himself, time for rest. He gave a yawn, looking down the long corridors of the Du Couteau manor.
To think he would end up here, having spent most of his young adult life sleeping in the sewers. And yet, the warmth he felt here, although comfortable, also left him uneasy. He was not used to comfort. He fought for each day, he knew nothing of warmth, his only real friends were the cold of the stone walls at his back and the cold of the steel in his hands. Never warmth. Never.
He opened his eyes suddenly. He was falling asleep on his feet. He hurried down the corridor to his room. So many doors, and yet, many of the rooms they accompanied were empty. Honestly, he could sleep in any of them. That didn't stop him, however, from reaching his room, his hand on the knob. And then, he heard her. The manor was quiet, all but for her cries. They were soft and muffled, but that did little to hide them from his trained ears. He sighed.
He felt as though he would hate himself for what he was to do next.
He let go of the knob to his door, continuing down the hallway before he came to a door just like every other. He knocked, not at all subtly. After a short commotion from inside, the door opened, and he could do nothing but stare with an uninteresting look at Cassiopeia, who looked at him angrily and with tears in her eyes. "What!?" she asked violently. He inwardly sighed. Damn her, he thought. As if he could ever forget who he was, where he came from, she always made sure to remind him, to remind him that he was a 'street rat', that he was unworthy to walk beside them, to live beneath the same roof. She treated him like an outcast, something he always felt within this house even without her help.
"I heard you crying," he said in monotone, never breaking eye contact with her. She huffed, returning within her room, leaving the door open. It being as much of an invitation he was going to get, he walked in, following behind her. It was only when her back was to him that his eyes scanned her body. Her hair was a mess of chocolate, tangled and unkempt, very unlike her. The gown she wore was a bright green, hanging loosely from her frame, its fabric fairly thin. And then his eyes fell upon her lower half, a serpentine end.
He placed his gaze at the back of her skull.
Before she was able to slither into bed, he also noted how her pillow was stained with tears, heavily darkened and damp. She resumed her place on her bed, burying her face once more into the comfort of her feather pillow, Talon standing at the foot of her bed, staring at her with tired eyes, not daring move without her permission. She didn't resume her crying, feeling the awkward aura in the air. Her brow furrowed. What was he doing? She turned suddenly, looking daggers at him. Nothing!? He was doing nothing!?
"WHAT DO YOU WANT!?"
He stretched his neck, cracking it audibly as he gave a silent yawn. "May I sit?" His voice was ever cold.
Cassiopeia nodded, the stare she gave him only intensified as he took a seat on her bed beside her tail, her eyes enough to show how guarded she felt around the man. But, Talon just sat there, his head resting into his hand, his arm propped up on his leg, very lax, very unusual for the always serious, always cold assassin. And again, he didn't say anything.
In truth, he didn't know what to say, or, if he should say anything at all. He just didn't know what to do. Honestly, he hated her, he always thought her a witch, but hearing her cries, he didn't know why, but he felt compelled to see her. And even after seeing her, well, there wasn't much for him to do. He was uneasy with feeling comfort, and, unfortunately, it meant that offering it was even more alien to him. And so, he did nothing.
And as he did nothing, Cassiopeia felt her temper rise, his very presence annoying her. If he had no business with her, then why was he here? Ugh, she should have just closed the door on his face, she thought to herself. He looked as if he didn't even notice her. Her hands clenched into fists.
She jolted from bed, going for him, but he didn't even seem to react, his eyes half closed as she brought her fists down on him, over and over. But, she wasn't as physical as he or Katarina. Her blows were weak, his muscles hard, he probably couldn't feel her feeble attempts at all, but still, she struck him again and again. And he just sat there. "WHAT!?" she yelled, "WHAT!? WHAT!? WHAT DO YOU WANT!?" Her hands trembled, tears flowing down her cheeks on their own without her notice. "WHY!? WHY WON'T YOU LOOK AT ME!?"
He turned his head slightly, facing her, and she froze suddenly. His eyes, tired and half closed, were as cold and sharp as ever. She tried to raise her shaking hands, but, she felt as if she had no strength left. Her palms fell upon the sheets, gripping and balling them up as her tears fell. "Why…" her voice was hoarse, all the aggression gone, her barrier gone, as she now broke down before him, showing herself bare. "Why won't they look at me…why did this happen to me…why…"
She felt his arm wrap around her shoulder, a strong arm, pull her towards him. She gave slight resistance, but, she was no match for his strength, especially in the state she was in now. Her face was pressed to his chest, her tears now staining his robe in the same fashion her pillow was. "After all I did…it was all for Noxus…so why…why did this have to happen to me…" His grip on her eased, and, seeing her opportunity, she pulled away from him, propping herself up towards him, their faces nearly touching.
"LOOK AT ME!"
And so, he did. He took in every detail of her. From her serpentine lower half, to the voluptuous curves that her gown did little to hide of her torso, to the fangs in her mouth, which she bared at him. And his eyes finally looked into her slitted eyes, red from her crying, and yet, still a beautiful golden yellow that sparkled.
Her scornful snarl twisted to an ugly, crying face. "I'm hideous…I was pushed away by a man…he…didn't want…me…because this is what I look like now…because this is me…"
"He's a fool, then." She looked at Talon, a slight chuckle escaping her lips.
"A fool? Who would want to be with something as ugly as me…"
"You're ugly?" he questioned, his eyes locked only onto her eyes. A slight smile crept onto her lips. He looked at her thoroughly, she saw him look her up and down, and yet, he was only focused on her golden eyes, and he was only ever looking at her, at Cassiopeia, not at the curse.
"Talon?" she started, leaning towards him slightly. She pressed her lips out alluringly. She never needed to utter a word for a man to take her lips, to kiss her and take her. But he never noticed her lips, just her eyes. She leaned in closer, and in turn, he did as well. He pressed his forehead to hers, catching her off guard as he shook his head slightly, refusing to kiss her. He was so close, she observed, and strangely, it made her…want him…it made her want him to want her…but he didn't.
Her eyes opened wide as he laid her down. He hung over her, his dark brown hair a total mess, but finally, out of his face, she could see how…handsome, he was. She hated him, ever since she first saw him. He was just a lowly street rat. What right had he to be a Du Couteau? But she didn't see the boy she saw so many years ago. No, he was a man. Her body tensed slightly, she expecting, hoping, something to happen.
But, he merely lay down beside her. She looked at him curiously. "What are you doing?" she voiced.
"I'm tired…had a long day…"
"And you think you can lay here in my bed? You think you can take advantage of me while I am so distressed?" What am I saying, she thought…the words she said were rude…mean spirited, and she said then so…ugly…maybe she did deserve to be a snake, a monster, a hideous creature…it fit her more…she couldn't even be honest with him.
And yet, even with how she was, he remained. He looked at her, his tired eyes locking with her own. "Did you?" He turned his back to her, closing his eyes.
She couldn't help but let out a slight chuckle. She didn't want him, she realized…she wanted…someone…anyone. He knew this. What he was doing was comforting her, being with her, although, not the way she wanted, the way she needed. Even though she was so ugly to him…he saw her…even though she was mean, he was here for her. Even though she made him feel like an outcast, he was here to make sure she didn't feel alone. A smile crept onto her lips, a genuine one as she curled up against his back, wrapping her arms around his midsection in a soft embrace.
"Why can't there be more men like you, Talon?"
She didn't hear an answer, just his slow and steady breathing. He was relaxed, and strangely enough, she felt…warm. She no longer felt like crying, but, the tears she did shed had taken their toll as her eyelids gained weight. She nuzzled her face into his shoulder, falling asleep shortly after.
Talon yawned as he rubbed his eyes. The sun seemed too bright, his blades too heavy, his arms too weak, his reactions too sluggish. He gave a sigh, deciding that nothing much will come from his daily training. As he turned, he felt a painful whack to the back of his head. He turned, his hand now on the throbbing bump on his head as he turned, only to be met with the emerald eyes of Katarina, her crimson hair flowing slightly in the breeze. Although she was nowhere to be seen not even a moment before, Talon didn't question how the assassin could be so…sneaky.
"The hell was that?" she asked, clearly annoyed. "What is wrong with you!? You were completely out of it right there!"
"You were watching me?" was all he could say before she threw a punch, it hitting him square in the jaw. He knew the point she was trying to make, but that did little to calm him. His fury flared as he threw a punch himself, recovering quickly from her hit, but already he could feel steel at his throat as he noticed no one before him.
"You going to answer me, kid?"
"Tch." She was only two years older than him, yet still, through the years they've known each other, she continued to call him that. And through the years, it continued to annoy him immensely. His arms fell limp, defeated. "I didn't get much sleep," he spat.
The blade was removed from his throat as Katarina slowly made her way before him. "Oh, busy night?"
"You could say that."
"And, what exactly was it that you were doing?" She glared at him accusingly.
Talon's own eyes narrowed. "None of your business," he said with venom. The two stared each other down, Katarina being the first to break the gaze that they held.
"Fine, don't tell me," she said, irritated. He turned swiftly on his heel, pulling his hood further down, obscuring his face more than it already did. He pace was brisk, but he halted abruptly as Katarina continued on. "But, if you know anything about Kollen Grisham, I'd love to hear what you'd have to say."
"And who the hell is that?"
"Oh, you don't know? He was the one that hurt Cass yesterday. Apparently, his throat was slashed in his sleep." Her eyes looked at his back, trying to find the slightest of movement that she knew would betray him. "The cut was so clean that he didn't even feel a thing…he never woke up, but, the maid that went to wake him up said that his face was pale, his sheets red, and that he had a smile on his face from the dream he was having. Now, do you know who could make a cut like that?"
Still, he did not move. "Afraid I don't," he said. He walked away, his pace steady.
She watched him go, his back straight. She didn't need to ask him, she knew it was him. He was like a little brother to her, and as much as he hated it, even though he would never admit it, they were family, and she knew him too well. They were the only family he had ever had. Even Cass, even after how she had treated him for years. She knew that no matter how badly Cass or she would treat him, he would never allow anyone to treat them the same way.
And even though he said nothing, she knew it was his blade that did the deed. It was, after all, his signature. A merciful, swift and painless death, one that could only belong to a master assassin. She smiled lightly. There were only three such people in the world so skilled, and all three of them belonged to the name Du Couteau.