In a quiet room lit by amber candles flickering from the draft which crept out her open window, LeBlanc sat cross-legged on a chair in her living room. She flipped through the leather-bound book with haste, a gentle smile as she was approaching the story's climax, awaiting excitingly for what was to happen within the next paragraph.
LeBlanc heard someone walking towards her home, a small little house far away from the hill of Noxus where the castle sits atop, but still in the Ring of Noxus, where the strong and noteworthy live. Three rough knocks rapped against her door and she groaned, placing the book down as she marched towards the wooden entrance.
"What do you want?" LeBlanc asked rudely as she swung her door open, her eyes landing upon a man in leather garments. "Despite my living far from you lot, you still seem to pester me."
"Good to see you, too." The man looked up at LeBlanc and half-heartedly smiled. "I wish to speak with you."
"About?" LeBlanc asked, staring at the man. "Lance, if you're coming to me with your problems, it is best I am the only one who hears it – you never know who could be listening."
Lance nodded and stepped in to LeBlanc's home, letting his eyes roam her living room, watching the purple accents upon the wooden walls.
"I have not much time for you, Lance." LeBlanc closed the door and leaned against it. "Was your problem you not seeing a nice home?"
"No." Lance lightly chuckled, approaching the candles which sat upon a table, raising the thin book into the air with a tilt. "I never knew you could read."
"Of course I can read, idiot." LeBlanc groaned while hurrying towards Lance, snatching the book out of his pale hands. "What do you want?"
"Y'know… ever since the Battle of Mount Gargantuan, we've gotten too much mouths to feed. Too many Demacian mouths." He shook his head. "Too many people to kill – to save rations. We be only keeping the important prisoners."
"And?" LeBlanc asked while she crossed her arms.
"There's no important prisoners, just one, single, important prisoner."
"Oh? Just one?" LeBlanc began to show a flicker of interest. "Tell me about him. What did he say?"
"She." Lance corrected LeBlanc. "She ain't said nothing,"
"Nothing?!" LeBlanc shouted at Lance. "It's been four days since the battle. That's four days of torture and interrogation. You're telling me you got her to say nothing? At all?"
"Nothing. At all." Lance muttered sadly
"Then kill 'er. Don't let anyone know about it, though. I had to go through the pain of bending Swain's ear to give you your position, if he hears of this, it will sully my reputation." LeBlanc stated.
"The thing is… she's important, very important. I'd of killed her long ago if it were otherwise." Lance frowned, staring at his feet.
"What Demacian could be so fucking important?" LeBlanc yelled.
"A healer. She's a healer." Lance stated
"A fucking healer?!" The Mage shouted at Lance.
"Yes." Lance smiled, looking up at LeBlanc to await her reaction. "The prisoner is Sona Buvelle, the Maven of Strings."
"S-Sona?" LeBlanc began to settle down. "Is it true she is mute?"
"Yes, terribly so." Lance spoke softly, staring at his feet once again.
"Did you torture her?" LeBlanc asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Yes." Lance answered. "She don't wince, she don't feel pain, she don't eat, she don't move and she don't fucking speak."
"Perhaps our Sona is stronger than you suppose. And again, she's mute, she can't speak." LeBlanc reminded Lance. "That's why she doesn't speak."
"Yes, but, she didn't even cry out when I flayed her fingers, she just stood there, looking at me with her lifeless eyes."
"Interesting…" LeBlanc placed her middle finger on her chin, tapping her index against her lips.
"It really fucking is." Lance muttered. "When I come back the next day, all her wounds are gone. They just – heal up."
"So…" LeBlanc stopped leaning against her door. "What's your problem? What do you need me to do?"
"I need you to interrogate her. I've seen how you persuaded Swain, how you bend his ear like a blacksmith can bend metal." Lance faced LeBlanc. "And you've to hide her here. I don't want anyone knowing I handed her off."
"Lance… This is a waste of my time, if the woman can't speak she's more useless than the pigs. Just kill her."
"No… Swain believes she can give us desirable information. She can't speak so she must know how to read and write." Lance said. "And if you do this, more power to you, you will be able to research immense restoration powers – perhaps even use them for your own."
"Take me to her." LeBlanc smiled, opening the door for Lance.
"There she is." Lance pointed to a Sona in rags, her feet on the floor with her hands suspended by hanging chains and cuffs, her blue hair veiling her face as she hung her head.
LeBlanc walked towards her, the smell of blood and sweat filing her nose. She winced, holding her breath as she squatted down, peering up to meet Sona's eyes with her own, seeing dull blue orbs briefly gaze at her own before they fixated back to the cement floor.
"Where are her clothes?" LeBlanc stood up and walked towards Lance. "I assume she didn't arrive in rags."
"T-there in that chest to your right." Lance pointed. "But why? She is your prisoner, she needn't an-"
"Shut it! No more from you." LeBlanc cut Lance off. "She will wear what she pleases. Do you have any boxes that could fit her inside? Perhaps the crates spears arrive in, that would work sufficiently."
"I-I'll go check..." Lance stuttered as he left the room.
The metal door shut and LeBlanc walked towards the bound woman, raising her chin gently as she moved her blue tresses from obscuring her face. "Hello, Sona. I'm LeBlanc. I'm to be your new interrogator."