How much money could she make, she wondered, if she sold him to a museum?
Resting her head on her hand, Sivir watched him in moderate fascination, tapping her fingers on the table idly. He sat nice and tall, back straight, flipping through the book with an easy swiftness that would have made a bibliophile jealous. As expected, he had a voracious appetite for texts. When had this become a regular occurrence to her, the sight of him devouring yet another tome?
"Is it true," began Nasus, deep voice breaking her from her musings, "that Demacian troops raze Noxian villages to the ground?"
She arched an eyebrow at him. "I thought that book was about Ionia."
"It is," he said, "but that question is what I asked of Garen Crownguard the previous evening."
Somehow, she felt like she knew where this was going.
"And?" she prompted, examining her nails.
He frowned, marking his place in the book before closing it. "I do not think he answered me truthfully. Or at all."
"Old Bushmaster dodged the question, huh?"
"He said something like, 'Demacia is always just. Never trust a Noxian.' Then he left."
Sivir snorted, rolling her eyes. Knowing Nasus, that was probably the mild spin on it. Garen was always a little touchy when it came to his home country.
"He's so in love with Demacia it's almost cute," she told him, chuckling derisively. "But it's true. Demacians get real nasty when it comes to Noxus. Razing villages is nothing to them if they're Noxian."
"I see," said the Curator after a pause. He placed a gold coin on the table, sliding it over to her. "Thank you."
"No problem," she replied, pocketing the coin without hesitation. "Just keep the gold coming. Any other questions?"
"About the Kinkou Order..."
Getting rich off him was almost too easy.
For a wise, immortal librarian, Nasus often had an incredibly difficult time discerning the exact facts from the fiction without having had prior experience in their world. This she had learned from several months of their odd arrangement. For the cheap price of one gold coin per question, he could have the completely unbiased verification of a mercenary who'd been everywhere there was to be on Runeterra: her. It had been a joke, when he'd first sent a query her way, but seeing as he took it seriously, she didn't see why not.
She had never found it good for business to be tied down to any one faction, but for the first time it was becoming profitable that she kept all ties loose. Not that the extensive adventuring she'd done in search of ancient artifacts and riches abound was a small part in it, of course. As it turned out, the Curator of the Sands had many questions, and more gold. Inside, some part of her was curious as to why, of all people he had approached her. Sivir half wondered if he wanted to keep tabs on her, more than anything, but it wouldn't make sense as to why he would.
She was partway through explaining the history of the Kinkou when a light knock cut into their conversation. Both of them paused, looking up.
"Pardon. Am I interrupting something?" The Radiant Dawn appeared from beyond the dusty bookshelves, characteristic glow somewhat muffled in spite of her apologetic smile. Something was definitely off about her.
Ever the gentleman, Nasus stood to greet her. "Nothing of great importance. What need have you of the Institute's archives?"
"I'm not so sure myself," said Leona hesitantly, gaze wandering across the great expanse of books. Her eyes met Sivir's. "If you'll pardon my saying, I did not expect to find the Battle Mistress here, of all people."
"Yeah, well, most people don't," she answered wryly. "I'm just doing some business; why are you here?"
"I wanted... periodicals. Records. Anything regarding the League's respawn system."
Nasus frowned. "This pertains to the recent incident, does it not?"
Sivir watched with interest as her visage changed in a near instant. Her politely maintained air of pleasantry gave way to something much more subdued – something much more empty.
"Yes," she answered quietly, "it does."
Seeing that this was a touchy subject, the Curator of the Sands turned to retrieve her requested texts without further comment. Leona stood there, almost awkwardly, solemn-faced before the Battle Mistress. Nasus may have been too polite to ask questions, but Sivir herself had no such qualms.
Everyone in the League - and the Institute - had known that there was some weird kind of history between Leona and the recently deceased. Whenever she'd seen them talking to each other, there was a special kind of venom in Diana's voice that people could only seem to bring out for people they'd cared about first. It was a sound she'd heard firsthand plenty before when some fool thought she concerned herself with anything more than her business.
Watching the Radiant Dawn shift from one foot to the other, something occurred to her.
"You and her," she began wonderingly, sitting upright in her chair, "weren't really enemies at all, were you?"
Leona stiffened almost imperceptibly.
"Were you friends?"
"That's no business of yours," she answered sternly, though her face had not quite lost its pale tint.
"Are you here because you want to know if she can be revived if the system goes back online?" asked Sivir, pointedly. "Or because you want to know if there's an afterlife for people who got connected to the system?"
It was a loaded question, she knew. Maybe too forward for how well they knew each other. Or for how much she was assuming about the situation. Leona might have had some choice words for her - but Sivir never got to find out.
"That is enough, Battle Mistress." Nasus returned with an armful of books and scrolls. He leveled a disapproving gaze on her, saying lowly, "Do not interrogate a grieving woman."
For an intimidating, otherworldly entity, he always had to be the good guy. She rolled her eyes, holding up her hands in a gesture of mock surrender. Leona smiled faintly – but there was something utterly self-deprecating in it, she noticed.
"I thank you for your kindness, Curator," the Radiant Dawn said, accepting the texts, "but I don't need your pity."
"Simple courtesy is hardly an act of pity," he answered, directing her to sign in the archive ledger. Leona, it seemed, had no real reply. She simply bid them farewell before turning to leave.
How interesting, thought Sivir idly as she watched the woman go, that two supposed enemies were in actuality friends. How complicated their relationship must have been. The sight of Leona's retreating back seemed to communicate to her a new vulnerability that the Radiant Dawn had never displayed before. She wanted to scoff – this was what friendships did to you.
"Chosen of the Sun," called out Nasus, breaking her out of her thoughts. Leona stopped, head turned slightly looking back over her shoulder. She had just reached the door. "Life and death are part of a cycle. She will not simply cease to exist."
A long paused passed between them, and then Sivir thought she could hear a sigh. Leona turned back to the door, pushing it open slowly.
"Thank you," she said, and then it closed and she was gone.
The Battle Mistress glanced curiously up at her most recent business partner. "Feeling sorry for Lady Sunshine?"
"I have lived through ages upon ages," he explained, evenly. "Loss is an old acquaintance to me. Understanding the cycle of life and death is the first step to moving on."
"Mm, dunno if that neat cycle of yours still applies since the Machine Herald played god and created the system," she said nonchalantly, drumming her fingers on the table. When he didn't respond immediately, she shot him a sideways look. "You don't even know, do you? You were just telling her pretty words to make her feel better."
The Curator of the Sands watched the door for a long moment before exhaling deeply, retaking his seat. "
We will simply have to find out," he admitted, opening his book once more.
The Battle Mistress watched him with mild interest. She never thought she'd see the day when she'd hear wise-men shelling out empty promises. The incident had brought out the strangeness in everyone, it seemed.
For better or for worse.
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"If you intend to find your inner balance, the first step is to remain still."
Despite his advice, the shuffling did not cease. He kept his eyes closed, patiently waiting for her fidgeting to die down. Something soft brushed his arm.
"Ahri."
There was a sigh. "Sorry. I guess I'm not cut out for this meditation stuff."
"Pray tell then why did you seek me out? Why not seek the Monkey King instead?" he asked, unmoving. Shen inhaled deeply, treasuring what stillness there was.
"He's off training with Master Yi. They didn't want me tagging along."
Apparently she had decided to abandon all pretenses of meditating – he could hear the ornamental bells on her clothing jingling as she cat-stretched out of her cross-legged sitting position, his acute senses picking up her every move.
"Is that so?"
"And I quote, 'If you are not here to practice Wuju, then Wuju please leave?' " she told him, in a spot-on mimicry of Master Yi's low voice. The Nine-Tailed Fox huffed petulantly. "The nerve."
"It would be in your best interest to seek other company, if you do not intend to meditate," he said, with a heavy exhale. There was another soft brushing of an errant tail against his arm. "In both our best interests."
"You're such a stick in the mud." Ahri sighed dramatically. "I feel sorry for Akali."
That prompted him to open an eye, shooting her a confused look. "Pardon?"
She had reclined on the floor, limbs splayed out in a position that would've been compromising had he been any other man. The fox smiled mysteriously, muffling her giggle with the end of one tail.
"It's nothing."
He didn't trust that it was nothing – not in the slightest – however, it was pointless to pursue the topic. Over the months of his odd acquaintanceship with the fox, Shen had found that she could be surprisingly tight-lipped when she liked. The Eye of Twilight simply took another deep breath, preparing to return to his meditation.
Then his door blew open.
"Oooh, shit. Sorry, bud. Forgot I had my gauntlets running."
The Kinkou ninja didn't react in the slightest, maintaining his cross-legged position on the floor even as the air rushed past him and he felt the slightest grazing of airborne splinters. "That is fine, Enforcer. Do you need something?"
"Cupcake has me running around questioning people about where they were during the... 'incident.' " He didn't need to look to know she was making air quotations. "Told me to start with the Ionian branch."
"Wow, aren't we privileged." The shuffling of clothing and tinkling of bells told him Ahri had risen to a sitting position.
"I know, right? Usually we start with the Zaunites. Sometimes just to piss 'em off." The smirk was almost palpable in her voice.
Underneath his mask, Shen frowned. Even without the unusual order of questioning, it was still strange. The sheriff generally handled interviews, being the more diplomatically disposed of Piltover's finest. What had her so preoccupied that she sent her far less tactful partner in her stead?
"Did the sheriff have other duties to attend to?" he asked, finally opening his eyes. There was no way he could continue his meditations now.
"Yeah, the big wigs sent her in to do some poking around in the confidential areas." She placed her huge, gauntlet'ed hands on her hips, scowling. "They wouldn't let me come because the area in question was 'too delicate for the likes of me to traipse around in.' " Her voice was practically dripping in acid. "So anyway, that's why I've got interview duty right now."
"I see. So then, what questions have you?"
"Let's just start with where you two were when the whole shebang went down. Neither of you were part of that match, right?"
Shen shook his head wordlessly, while the fox chirped out a "Nope!" The Piltover Enforcer nodded, pulling out a notebook and a pen. The two of them watched with interest as she prepared to scrawl something down, glanced at her hands, and then simply tossed both items over her shoulder.
"Only scrubs take notes," she explained with a careless shrug upon noticing their stares. "So were both of you with other peeps, or what?"
"I was having lunch with Wukong," offered Ahri, straightening up. "It happened around noon, right?"
"Give or take a little bit, yeah. And Pajamas over there?"
"Meditating. I had no company," he answered, pointedly ignoring her nickname. "I believe it is possible to confirm that I did not leave my room at all that day."
Vi clicked her tongue twice. "Yeah, we'll see about that, bud. Either of you see anything suspicious?"
The Eye of Twilight only shook his head again, but Ahri hm'ed to herself, tapping a finger against her chin.
"Come to think of it, walking down the hallway that morning I did see the Du Couteau sisters. Katarina was pulling Cassiopeia aside all urgently. I think she said something like, 'It's now or never.' Does that help?"
"Babe, that's perfect," said Vi, snapping her fingers. The metal sparked as it ground together. "Those Noxians are always up to some dastardly shit. This kind of thing is totally their style."
"Any other questions?" asked Shen, calmly.
"Nah, I think I've about covered all my bases. Thanks, bud." She winked and pointed at the fox. "See you around, Ahri. Thanks for the tip."
"Bye, Vi. No problem." She waved goodbye to her as the Enforcer left.
When the woman was out of earshot, he turned and shot her a curious look. "The Enforcer is also an acquaintance of yours?"
"I've got friends in all kinds of places," she said, with another mysterious smile.
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There was something rotten in the Institute of War.
This much, Caitlyn could tell as she held up the fragments of the arcane crystal to the light of her desk lamp. Through the plastic, she could see the slightest pulse of a fading glow, the remnants of the powerful magic that had fueled the system.
By now there was little doubt in her mind that the sabotage had been intentional, and premeditated well ahead of the day of the incident. Impulse crimes were sloppy - tracks and records, fingerprints and DNA - evidence was always left everywhere, and her sharp eyes had never had problems picking them up. No, this had to have been planned extensively for it to have been such a clean job.
No hair, no threads, nothing on the keyboards or the panel, even though she knew that there had to have been someone to screw the panel off the core. The way the wires were severed inside left her suspicious, too. They could usually make some guesses based on the condition they were left in, but the severance was neither clean enough to be deemed by a keen blade, nor messy enough to be deemed by a laser of some kind. Rather, it looked as though they had been chewed through, by some creature.
Viktor had pointed it out to her, when he was in the middle of his repairs, but she hadn't paid it as much mind when she was surveying the rest of the room. Now that Caitlyn thought back to it, it could be significant. A way to narrow the search down to those who had the teeth and the stuff to chew through wires, or had the pets.
The Sheriff of Piltover set aside the bag of shards, turning to the case file that had been prepared for her. Flipping open the folder, she thumbed through the detailed report of the incident: the time and place, the people present, the response, the exact cause of death, time of discovery of sabotage, etc. They had already gotten statements from the most relevant persons of interest, but at the moment Vi was out questioning other champions, just to cover their bases. She wasn't one to follow gut feelings, but something told her this had to do with more than just the Scorn of the Moon.
The statements they had already gotten weren't that helpful, at any rate. The Institute had kept a changing shift of guards stationed outside the only entrance to the Respawn Room at all times, but none of them could recall any activity during any of the projected hours of the crime, or beyond. The sheriff had questioned them extensively in person, and they all swore the days and nights had been all silence. It occurred to her that the break in could have been done during the brief window given by the change in shifts - however, it was so small a time period, it could barely even be considered.
Everywhere she looked, dead ends. And that was only figuring out the details of the crime - goodness knows what a time they'd have dealing with the motive.
A crackle of static from behind her. Caitlyn rose and retrieved her radio from where she'd left it on her bed.
"Cait, you there?" Vi's voice came through, muffled by an electric undertone.
"What is it?"
"I think I got a lead. You might wanna do a status check on the Du Couteau sisters."
Du Couteau? She raised one eyebrow. "Noxian activity?"
"Not exactly. Heard they were acting a little suspicious around the time of the incident. Maybe worth something?"
She nodded, even though she knew full well her partner wouldn't be able to see it. "At the very least, it's a place to start. Everything else has gone nowhere. Is that all?"
A brief pause, and more static. The sheriff wondered if she, maybe, heard music.
"Yeah," answered her partner. "Listen, I found more peeps to hit up. Talk to you in a bit."
"All right," she replied, nodding once again. "Good work, Vi."
"Heh." There was a harsh puff of static that told her that the Enforcer had held the radio too close to her mouth again. "Good luck with your half of it."
"You too."
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The gentle music floating throughout the garden was like a balm to her soul. The Starchild closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, simply listening, attempting to attune herself to the surrounding sounds of nature – the rustling of leaves in the wind, the chirping of birds. The day was beautiful, calm and peaceful. Her heart was not.
"Her image refuses to leave me," she admitted to her companion, smiling sorrowfully. "I cannot help but think that, if I had only arrived more swiftly, I could have saved her."
Fluttering chords answered her, comforting in their tones. A butterfly floated past, carried by the summer breeze.
"This is the first time anyone has truly died under my care." Soraka held out her hand, allowing the butterfly to alight upon it. "I always thought I would be prepared for the it... However..."
She paused, watching from the shade of the tree as the insect took flight. They were such lovely creatures, but so fragile – cursed with a short life even her magic could not prolong. Perhaps, in the end, mortals were all butterflies. Blessed to live beautifully, burdened to die quickly.
Unbeknownst to her, a tear dribbled down her cheek.
There came more harmonious tones, strummed notes that rose and fell in volume in a dance up and down the scales. Gently, Sona took the Starchild's hand in hers, offering her a kind smile. Soraka wiped at her eyes, smiling back.
"Thank you, truly," she said. "Your presence is a boon."
The Maven of the Strings patted the back of her hand in reply, returning to her etwahl with a few plucked chords. The Starchild reclined against the wide tree trunk once again, drawing her knees up to her chest.
"D'aaw, that was so sweet it made my teeth ache."
The music ceased abruptly as the two of them looked up. A very familiar form stepped out of the trees, all brash grins and eager steps. The Piltover Enforcer gave them an airy wave, huge, steel gauntlets glinting in the sunlight.
"Hey, ladies," she greeted. "Vi here. I need to ask you some questions."
"Eavesdropping is impolite," chided Soraka, vaguely irked.
"I admit I coulda walked in earlier," she said with a careless shrug, "but ruin the moment?"
A razor sharp burst of air sliced the tree next to her, throwing up small splinterings of bark. The Enforcer didn't flinch, cheeky grin only growing wider.
"Okay, okay! Calm down, Silver Strings," she said, holding up her hands. "Just lemme ask my questions and I'll go, all right?"
Sona, predictably, did not respond, but Soraka nodded, saying, "Ask what you must."
Vi crossed the garden with undisguised glee, flopping onto the grass before them.
"So, let's start with the match..."
The Starchild pinched the bridge of her nose with one hand. This, it seemed, would take a while longer than she had hoped.
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