Chapter 1
"I couldn't take my eyes off her but that's not what I took off that night."
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Where he last saw her again, she was in the mess hall, sketching the newly polished weapon in front of her, specially designed to match the hues of her garb. It matched the color of her dyed hair and the molten gold of her eyes. He'd remember seeing her wearing this. Once when he saw her arrive in the institute from a mission in Bilgewater along with a few champions. She looked as sharp as ever. More skin from her arms were exposed and less littered by tattoos he last saw her wearing. She looked more of the woman he thought was capable of such confidence and beauty. As if it wasn't a normal thing for him to do, he still couldn't take his eyes off the scout.
Then again, she's sitting alone among all the tables fully occupied by the other champions. It seems as if they didn't mind how much space there was on her table. She always sat alone, watched some of the battles alone and face her own problems alone alongside the bird she'd called a companion. The assassin would be lying to himself if he didn't want to be beside her at least. If he was in her shoes, he'd lose his mind in only one day talking to a bird and taking orders from a man born to be worshipped. He respected her, because he saw the strength that mirrored his even before thinking of being in her shoes.
But then there he was, observing her from the shadows, hoping he'd have the courage to wave a simple hello. Not after he left her sleeping in his bed a few days ago. Talon wouldn't admit it to himself that he regret leaving her there. He remembered tucking her gently in his bed, keeping her warm from the cool morning breeze and the way her face scrunched slightly as he stood from the bed, not wanting to rouse her from her slumber.
"Talon."
Then it snapped him back from his thoughts and turned to see a hooded summoner whose voice is ever so familiar. A child of Noxus it seemed. One of the Noxian summoners who looked up to him.
"You're requested to be summoned." He stated in a proud voice.
The assassin's response was the usual, do as they say. He only joined the league to acquire some things he needed. And the salary was only a bonus yet the other champions he worked with made it harder. Not of their strength but of their cause.
As he made his way to the summoning chambers, he didn't notice the summoner look back at where he last laid his eyes on.
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The layout for the new batch of skins just arrived and the "Blood Moon Festival" was upon them, its origin is from Ionia. And about some vengeful lady on a bloodhunt. Not that he cared but the weight of the garments he was fitted in made him agitated. He was given a mask and how the hell can he throw daggers properly if his peripheral view was limited. His hood didn't bother him but masks? His hood was enough to hide his face but why a mask?
"Is this even neccessary?" He asked the woman measuring his legs.
"Yes and you have to live with it. Without a mask, youre not wearing a Blood Moon outfit."
"Then can you at least poke a bigger hole in this... thing" He said, taking the mask off and poked a finger through an eyehole.
"I'll see what I can do. Now hold still. This is why I'm doing this sooner for better adjustments."
He cursed under his breath. After a long match an hour ago, he wanted to rest his mind from the tiring commands of the summoner. One of Noxian blood. Always wants to be in control especially when having the privelege to.
And after all that, he got to stand a few more minutes. A few more moments of suffering for the assassin.
There was something that caught his eye on the table not too far from him and he was certain it was his blades. A design sheet maybe? He inched closer to it, trying not to get out of the insufferable woman's sight and grabbed the small pile of papers. He gets red arm cuffs and blades that bleed before it could even cut through skin. He must be lucky to be hand-picked by the moon as Diana said. He drew blood from his victims so why not wear its shade?
Satisfaction yet he had to wait.
He held the papers in his hand and can't help but pull out a random sheet and suddenly, the woman snatched it with ease and the rest of the pile.
"Peeking through these files might spoil you Mr. Du Couteau. We like to avoid other champions or summoners seeing them before they're even made." Her accent rivaled a certain Fiora Laurent.
He sighed.
Bullshit. She talks to much and he's getting bored. Isn't she too old to be a summoner?
A few seconds til she snapped her notebook closed and dismissed him.
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Violet. All he could think of was violet.
How the red stain of blood mixed with the blue of his garments remind him of the color. Not that its too obvious but it was a familiar thing to see. He remember seeing the red on his sister's hair and blue from other champions yet his thoughts betrayed him and led his interest to the violet-haired woman. Quinn. Her uniqueness and raw strength. The passion he feels from her affection. She was his drug as he was her sin.
They were both killers. Murderers. But star-crossed lovers was an odd lable to these two strong individuals. Often alone but not lonely. But alas, they're both still human. Humans who crave affection. Humans who lust over those who hey think are their equals.
He wanted to see her again.
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Note: Sorry for the wait. I had some shit to deal with aka shame because of my writing skills and because I am in an inappropriate age of writing these kinds of stuff and please do check out my deviant art. Give me writing tips and prompts.