Malcolm Graves glanced around to all the trees and empty camps of the jungle that surrounded him. Through the tall grass he walked with his gun at his side, and no worry of the weight of his footsteps alerting enemies to his presence. He pushed aside the large blades of the brush and sighed a heavy sigh. The lights of the empty camp where the monstrous enemies once lay did little to light his journey, leaving his path darkened by all but the skies above. There was a pain in his side that he gripped onto lightly and bit at the bottom of his lip before growling under his breath.

It had been a long fight. That much was clear. When he looked around to the structures and walls before him he saw deep marks of swords and bullet casings. He could still smell burning gunfire in the air when he walked slowly through the tri brush. What skirmish took place here he could not remember, for it had been a bloody game. He brought his hand up to his beard and stroked it gently with a heavy frown on his lips.

"Quite messy," A rough voice suddenly hit Graves' ears when he took his first step into the shallow river. Almost instinctively he hit his back up against the closest wall away from the voice and grabbed for his shotgun. Voices weren't very common on the rift, that much he knew. It was dangerous to speak in such dark, unlit areas. Unless of course you happened to be a loudmouth ax throwing lunatic who lived for the sound of his own voice. However, Graves could tell right away that this wasn't Draven. The owner of the voice was too deep, and covered in a thick accent that Graves couldn't place for the life of him. With his heart pounding furiously up against his chest it took him a good thirty seconds to remember that the gunfire had ended long ago. All he needed to do with look around the rift to see that he was alone... or should have been, at the very least.

"Is someone there?" The voice questioned again.

"Grr..." Graves grumbled under his breath, but didn't lower his gun. Perhaps he was getting a bit reckless in how he snuck around so carelessly after all. He chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before grumbling once again and turning the corner. He lowered his gun and pointed it to the ground, but didn't hollister it. The league was full of nothing but freaks and lunatics who were far too trigger happy and reckless. Running into them outside of the rift a death wish all on its own. Though he still didn't feel like getting shot up for a second time in the day, needless to say.

The first thing that Malcolm Graves saw was a large, towering... door. It was clearly a door. Though it had been ripped from its hinges and bore a design that looked far too intricate for somebody even as prissy as Fiora to bore on her home. It had a ram with blue, glowing eyes and a gem with the same color on its head. He saw that one of the ram's horns had been broken... though what drew his attention past the door was the man who stood behind it.

"Braum," Graves stated the name of the man before him. He stood tall with pale skin that could only come from someplace as hidden from the sun as the Freljord. His body was muscled and... quite frankly large. Painted in bright blue tattoos and no hair to show but the bush on his upper lip and eyebrows made the man seem quite intimidating. Truth be told... Graves didn't know much about Braum.

"Malcolm," Braum replied back. His eyes were bright wide and blue, though his face didn't hold the same cheerful smile that he had earlier. Graves frowned and stared into the dragon pit that Braum stood outside of. No dragon to be seen. "Odd. You are the first to stay beyond battle." His sentences were strange and broken. It was quite clear from his accent that he wasn't entirely fluent in the language.

"Don't call me Malcolm," Graves replied with a frown. He didn't mean for it to sound so cold, though it still came out that way. Perhaps a man from the Freljord was more used to cold than the average champion, for he didn't bat an eye at the way the marksman growled. He was tall, much taller than Graves. "You're still standing around here, aren't you?"

"I suppose I am," Braum gave out a hearty laugh. Graves frowned in reply but took a few hesitant steps forward. He finally lowered his gun and holstered it, for Braum seemed to barely give him a look like Jinx would have right before she fired a rocket straight at his chest. "But I am afraid that I am not quite used to field yet. It is... complicated. Many twists and turns. It is very easy to become lost. Though all the other champions don't seem to have much issue."

Braum stared down at the river where the dragon should have laid, if not for the fact that the match had ended. He frowned and crouched down slowly before pressing the tips of his fingers down against a rock and stroked them against the grimy, wet surface. When he brought his hand back however, Graves could see a streak of crimson on his fingertips.

"So very much bloodshed." He shook his head slowly. He placed his hand into the water and let the mud and blood run away and tint the water. "You cannot tell whose side it was from. Ours or theirs? It's very sad, either way."

"Sad?" Graves had the sudden urge to chuckle, and let the hints of one slip into his words. "I think you're in the wrong place if you think bloodshed is sad, buddy. Ain't no good come from most of the freaks you got running around this place." He pointed with his thumb back behind them to the bottom half of the rift. "Hell we had that psycho bitch with the blue hair shoot rockets at us for twenty minutes and laugh like hell."

"I enjoyed her laugh," Braum smiled gently and shook his head. "Very cute, that little girl is. And very talented with her gun... though of course that is not to say that you aren't as well, Malcolm. I simply couldn't keep up with you. This place covered in... war. With nobody here but us two it makes it quite... empty."

"It's Graves." Graves looked down into the empty dragon pit. Indeed there was quite a large amount of spilt blood and bullet casings. He even spotted a few marks of singed earth where spells beyond his own understanding had been cast. "If it uh... makes you feel any better," Graves shrugged his shoulders when he spoke and pushed aside his red cape. He wasn't sure why he was speaking, to be honest. The way Braum looked to him with his large, blue eyes seemed to force the words out of his mouth. "The field here heals up just like we do when we die. Same magic I guess. All the blood just fizzled away and all the bullets sink into the ground. Even parts where big assholes like Nautilus crash a wall with his anchor heal up. Whenever anybody else is summoned here it's good as new."

"Truly?" Braum picked up a single bullet casing. It was golden, much like the ones that Graves used. "Quite fascinating magic. Do you know what kind?"

"Eh..." Graves lifted a hand and began to scratch behind his head before looking away from Braum. "I'm not one to get tangled up in magic lately... I just stick to guns and bullets. Ask Syndra or somebody... wait no, nevermind she might kill you. Ask uh... Ahri. Yeah Ahri. She won't kill a guy like you... anymore."

"Anymore?" Braum lifted one of his bushy eyebrows. "Just how many people are willing to kill me so easily?"

"Well," Graves chuckled and stroked at his beard. "Look if I explain to you who you should talk to on a grounds of who will kill you just for speaking to them it might be shorter to list who won't. Trust me, don't try talking to and of the champions even if they're drop dead goergous and you delude yourself into thinking you got a shot. The pretty ones are the most deadly."

"Point taken," Braum chuckled. Something in the tone of his voice made Graves chuckle again, a genuine chuckle that actually made his chest feel warm. Braum pulled on his large sash with fur on the end under his shoulder pad. Graves found his eyes being drawn to the large muscles on the chest of the larger man. Though he was pale and hairless, he still looked like more of a man's man that Graves had ever seen. The longer Graves stared at the body of the other the longer it took him to realize that something about him was just a bit off. He was wearing a... cape... that certainly wasn't something he wore at the beginning of the match. It took him several moments to place it, but when he stared at the belt of the other he saw that it didn't quite fit with the rest of him. It was large and black, with a large silver buckle to boot.

"Is that a..." Graves raised his hand and pointed to the belt of the other. "Giant's Belt?"

"Hmm?" Braum looked down to his own body and tapped on the belt. "I… believe so? The shopkeeper recommended it to me but…" Braum trailed off slowly while Graves approached Braum slowly and reached out a hand. "What are you doing, Malcolm?"

"Stop callin' m- YE-OW!" Graves touched the orange cape with the tips of his fingers. Even though his thick leather glove he could feel a sudden burning on his hand that forced him to slap it back down against his chest and jump back. He landed on Braum's shield, though it didn't budge.

"Are you alright?" Braum's voice suddenly was hit with a weighted hammer of concern when Graves took another step away from him. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that the cape would hurt you." His eyes showed true, genuine concern that Graves hadn't felt looked upon him in… perhaps his entire life. The life of a thief and smuggler wasn't exactly one looked at with pity.

"Yeah, yeah I'm fine. Just don't fuckin' touch me with that cape again," Graves waved his hand with a growl of breath until the sting of the burn began to fade. "Christ didn't anybody tell you to return all that magic shit when the match is over?"

"I… no," Braum shook his head. If Graves didn't know any better he would say that his pale skin looked just a bit pinker near his cheeks. "There lot to read that I… skimmed. Some of the larger words confused me and…" Braum bit down onto his cheeks and looked away.

"This ain't your first language, huh?" Graves raised his eyebrow to Braum. Braum shook his head, and the blush on his cheeks seemed to remain. "Look you just wanna take all that off and return it. If you take crap like that out of the rift and they don't bust your ass you're lucky. But if you bring it back and start with all of it then they'll start forcing you to take these awful potions that make you weak."

"Potions?" Braum gave Graves a questioning stare.

Graves shook his head. "Look that ain't important. What else you got on you from the shop?"

"Just… these boots… oh and a few little lights," Braum reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, glowing totem. "I thought they were very pretty. I was going to bring it home and show my pet Poro."

"You have a… nevermind," Graves shook his head again and took a step forward, careful not to touch Braum's cape. He grabbed at Braum's hand and let their fingers intertwine before pulling on the larger man. Though Graves was smaller and weaker, Braum still went along as if he were being pulled. "Look the magic in that shit is wearing out fast. The shopkeeper's gotta polish it up or it'll be no good for the next match."

"Did I do something wrong?" Braum stared down at the other. He lifted the shield that Graves couldn't even budge by falling into it like it weighed nothing. His eyes made Graves look away, just the large puppy-dog nature they held seemed to spike something in Graves' heart that he couldn't quite place. He growled quietly to see if it would leave, but it didn't.

"Look let's just go return it before somebody gets pissed," Graved pulled on Braum's hand and led him along around the other side of the jungle and out of the river. He tried to let go of Braum's hand once the taller was following him, though the muscled man held it tightly and even squeezed a few times as they walked. Graves decided not to look back at him when they pushed past the tall grass and stood in the sunlight of the middle of the map. Graves looked up to the sky and frowned. It was growing dark. If they were lucky their match would have been the last before the day ended and they wouldn't need to rush.

"What are these… potions you talk about?" Braum questioned as they walked.

"Look, if you do too well too often people start to complain," Graves said and squeezed his free fist. "They give you these potions that'll make you weaker before the game. They taste like piss and blood and I'll be damned if I haven't gagged every time I take one. They'll give you a potion if you're too weak that'll make you strong and those taste even worse."

"Why potion, though?" Braum seemed like he was frowning underneath his bushy moustache.

"Look, you can be a great fighter all you want," Graves finally pulled his hand from Braum's own and turned back to him and pointed to his chest. "But sometimes you're too strong and it's just unfair to everybody else on this damn mountain. It's crappy if you ask me. This is supposed to be a giant battle to settle differences and they try to make it fair for everybody… let the weak ones die, I say…" Graves grumbled and shrugged his shoulder. "Sorry, rambling like hell, aren't I?"

"Just a bit," Braum smiled. "Though if you have to take the potion so often, that must mean you are very strong." Braum placed a hand down against Graves' shoulder. "I will try to protect you in the future, though. Even if they give you nasty potions that taste of… what was it?"

"Blood and piss," Graves smirked at Braum. "Don't gotta butter me up, I'm already offering to take all your clothes off," Graves smacked away Braum's hand with the back of his own hand and laughed at his own joke. Braum smiled as well before laughing. It was a hearty and loud laugh.

"Not even offering a drink before coming out with it," Braum hit a hand down against his stomach and laughed. "You are a very confident man, Mal… er… Graves."

"Just… call me Malcolm," Graves shrugged off Braum's hand from his shoulder and then began to rub at the spot where he had touched. "It's getting to be a real pain in the ass setting you straight."

"Very well," Braum smiled. "Though we shall discuss the matter of you taking my clothes off later, shall we?"

"Can it!" Graves growled, though he knew his eyes didn't have nearly as much of the bite as his words did. They were already past the second turret. Each of the stones were rebuilding themselves. The way Braum looked at the stones move with wonder made Graves feel just a hint of nostalgia in his gut. He too could remember a time when the simple movement of rocks on their own would cause him to stop and stare. He impatiently grabbed at Braum's hand again and gave it a rough pull. "Come on, if they catch you with me they're gonna think I'm trying to smuggle more shit out."

"More?" Braum raised his brow in confusion. He turned away from the magic stone and back to Graves. "You have smuggled before, no?"

"That a trick question?" Graves snorted in response. "But outta here? Yeah, one time. Look, like I said. Half the people here are crazy and the other half are no good thieves. And do I look the type to be crazy?"

"Mostly." Braum shrugged his shoulders.

"Mostly?"

"Everybody is bit crazy." Braum raised his hand and made a pinching motion with his index finger and thumb. Graves rolled his eyes and looked away before continuing on to the nexus.

"Look let's just say I think you're one of the rare exceptions on those two. There are a few halfway decent people around here. They treat you like shit if you try to steal some of that stuff. It's expensive to make magic armor, y'know." Graves raised both his hands and shrugged his shoulders.

"Hmmm." Braum seemed to sit on the thought for a while, for he grew quiet for the rest of the walk. When he approached the top of the map he saw right next to the fountain sat an old yordle with long white whiskers and a large brown hat polishing a large hourglass that seemed to shimmer with gold.

"Hey, Boris!" Graves snapped when he stepped up to the yordle. He laid his fist down on the shop desk to get the small creature's attention, though he didn't so much as jump at the loud sound. "You hear me old man?"

"Yes yes, what is it now Graves?" The shopkeeper's voice sounded tired and flat. He didn't turn around to look at Graves. "The match is over, and no I'm not selling you any more items. I don't need to be involved in the black market, now do I?"

"That was one time, Boris," Graves rolled his eyes and looked back to Braum. "New guy here didn't get the memo. Apparently you didn't follow through with the message that you were supposed to give."

Boris took one look at Braum before narrowing his eyes and glancing back to Graves. "And what makes you think that the 'new guy' didn't just listen?" Boris seemed to put as much venom in his voice as he could. "It'll cost you to return those things so late, you know."

"It was probably my…" Braum tried to speak, but his voice soon got drowned out by Graves, who hit his fist down on the desk once more.

"Oh please, old timer. We both know you have hearing problems. Just let us return the shit and we'll be on our way before anybody else gets involved in all of this. I mean I know Katarina tried to sneak at least five cloth armors out of the rift today alone and you're gonna pick on the new guy?

Boris sighed loudly and brought two of his furry fingers to between his eyes to rub at his temples. "Are you at least going to be courteous and buy a few cigars from me? Or is this just a return free of charge?"

"You know I'm trying to quit that shit," Graves shook his head. "If it'll make you feel better I can convince the new guy here to do a strip tease while he takes off the very expensive magic armor you need back with no hassle." He made sure to emphasize the "very expensive" aspect of the supplies. "Guy's nice and big and has washboard abs. I'm sure it's worth whatever the return fee is. Hell I'm willing to pay you to see some of that action."

"M-Malcolm!" Braum looked to Graves with worried eyes, though when Graves raised his hand to get him to quiet down. Boris frowned and shivered at the simple idea of watching the muscled man do such things. He turned away and covered his eyes while using his free hand to wave at Graves.

"Fine fine, just hurry up and return everything and get out of my sight." The shopkeeper growled. Graves threw Braum a smirk and chuckled before nodding his head.

He took three steps toward Braum and patted his large arm before walking past. Braum was slowly taking off his sunfire cape and biting on his cheek while looking between the two men before he began to fold it slowly.

"Was it… needed to yell?" Braum questioned Graves while he took of the belt and seated himself down on the ground next to his shield to begin removing his shoes. "It seems as though a simple conversation could have taken place."

"Gotta know how to play people, Braum," Graves nodded his head and clenched a fist over his cape. "That's how you do a lot in life. How to get a good deal when you aren't stealing from shopkeepers and it's how to win a fight on the rift. Everybody's different, gotta know how to play them."

Braum slipped off one of his shoes, a merc tread by the looks of it, and frowned at the idea. He looked down to the palm of his hand and the sunfire cape beside him that seemed to radiate with heat at just the sight. "Play people, you say?"

"Yeah, I say." Graves chuckled.

"Then how about after we return goods, we go for drink?" Braum turned to Graves and raised one of his bushy eyebrows. Graves looked as though he was halfway to a reply before he stopped dead in his tracks with his mouth wide open. "Place where we don't need to yell to get good prices. People like Braum where we will go."

"A uh… drink…" Graves suddenly felt his head go blank. He stared at Braum, and once again found his eyes drawn to his large, exposed upper body.

"Is this not playing people to your favor, Malcolm?" Braum looked as though he was trying everything in his power not to crack into a smile. "I'm only doing what you suggested."

"You… slimy fuckin' rat," Graves shook his head and let out a few deep sounding laughs. "Well why the hell not. Ain't had a good drinkin' buddy in years."

Braum smiled and took off his other shoe with a clank of the heavy armor against the stone.

"Playing people has many benefits."