. chapter one / uneasy ground

( AN: Thank you everyone for all the favorites and follows! I hope I can keep you guys interested. I'm kind of winging this with a loose outline of where I want the story to go and I'm super excited to see where it takes me. I really want to explore Soraka and Draven's interactions, so I hope you enjoy them!)

Soraka hated this.

She hated each step of contact her hooves made against the tile, the clack clack of her steps echoing back like laughter. She hated how out of the corner of her eye, she could see him, sizing her up and trying to figure out what the hell Swain had assigned him to. But, most of all, Soraka hated the fact that she had to pretend that this was all perfectly fine.

"What are you?"

The question was blunt, making Soraka seethe under the scrutinizing tone in Draven's self-assured voice. Her step never faltered, the sound of hoof against tile filling the relative silence as she pondered a response.

"I come from a far off planet where we're named for our most distinguishing feature. Can you guess my name?"

There went her tongue. Soraka didn't even think when she spoke, the sting of her words hitting the Noxian full-force. Draven managed a confused expression, pensive with eyebrows knit as he contemplated her ridiculous inquiry. Those steely eyes lingered on her horn, and a bawdy fit of laughter resounded from the man. "Real cute. I don't bite, sweetheart,"

There was that pause. Soraka scoffed and rolled her eyes. She could already assume the end of that one. "Unless you want me to."

There was more laughter. Soraka returned it in kind with a cold shoulder, the silence setting in just as quickly as it'd been abolished. Draven felt its frigidity, and he let his Cheshire grin loosen into a much more manageable smile.

"You're a real piece of work, aren't you?" Draven teased, earning the barest of glances from Soraka, who quickly directed her eyes back before her. "What would my name be on your planet, babe? Don't hold back, I know how glorious I am already."

Soraka's lids pulled back in the faintest hit of surprise, but she obscures it. She can feel his eyes roving her pallid face, hungrily eating up whatever information it can find on her countenance.

Her lips stir with the hints of words, but they come out in an unconfident croak. "Cocky."

There's silence, tension, and then the telltale burbles of a laugh. Before she knows it, Draven is cackling once more, face red and shoulders shuddering with the effort to breathe. Soraka doesn't know if he's just easy to humor, or if she's really that funny, but his attention is diverted from her and it's enough for her to be thankful.

"My, my! You have a beaaau-ti-ful, assuming mind, sweetcheeks. The Dray isn't going to fight that." His voice drips smarm. You could nearly hear the wink and the nudge of his hips in his voice, and even as Soraka shrinks away she finds herself finding this stupid man's bravado endearing.

"If you don't want to tell me much, that's your funeral. But if my past groupies are any indication, I won't be seeing you around for much longer... can you blame people for not being able to handle perfection?"

Hm. That's all that Soraka musters, a hm and a downcast glance of her eyes. Draven catches onto it, and his eyes try to gather more from her. He doesn't need to ask, as she speaks without being spoken to, the sort of rule-breaking that Draven tolerated and valued in his charges. What fun was company when it didn't speak?

"I heard you got into a fight with a yordle prisoner when you were last being monitored... is that correct?"

Chuckling, there's a slight cant of his head in what Soraka assumes is a nod. She's still looking forwards.

"I sure did. Furballs go crazy when they're locked up, did you know that? Nearly lost my eye. Guess my warpaint would've looked more realistic, huh?" Draven grins crookedly, the sort of grin that made her think he liked his work. "Draven won, as always. Was there ever a doubt?"

"...No, but I have more than some doubts about your healer."

Soraka hears him scoff. "You know what we call that here in Noxus, sweetheart? Collateral damage. Comes with the territory, You better get used to it."

For the first time since she and Draven have started conversing, Soraka feels herself back down. There is no snarl, no malice in his voice, but she can feel just how certain, how factual those words are. In the end, she would just be collateral damage. This was the path she'd chosen, and perhaps getting too chummy with an executioner needed to be knocked down a few pegs on her to-do list.

"I'm surprised you took this job. I figured an Ionian like you wouldn't. You have something against them? Didn't sacrifice you enough virgins? Someone stepped on your shrine?"

Thankfully, Draven had the attention span and lack of courtesy to change the subject. But, it gives Soraka reason to pause, and she finds her head turning and her ears drooping because she has absolutely no idea what this man must mean. He turns to meet her for a moment and there's a look of shock followed by a wry, all-knowing smile.

"Uh oh, someone doesn't know."

"Please."

Another laugh. But this one sounds crueler than the last. She'd given him no reason to show her kindness, but Draven relents and he's speaking smoothly and fulfilling her request and oh stars is Draven so, so stupid for trusting her.

"Ionia thought it'd get bigger britches after we moved in on them last time. They wisened up. Now, I don't know for sure, but intelligence thinks that they're having some deal with Piltover... We've confiscated what looks like hextech weaponry from them, real complicated stuff. No luck yet with figuring out anything yet, but it's enough to keep us on our toes."

Soraka was broadsided not only by the information, but the willingness in which it was shared. So confident was the executioner in his abilities that he'd openly trusted an Ionian ambassador with the sort of information that only fed political tension.

"But hey, a few healed civilians is worth more than your nation. Different strokes for different goats, I get it. Besides, you get to be in the presence of me. Chin up, that's gotta be worth something!"

Shoulders slump, albeit subtly, the celestial wilting under the bulk of his words. Her legs move of their own accord, and she barely realizes when they come to a stop and she finds herself a few paces ahead of Draven.

He motions for her to join him inside his quarters and she accepts out of duty and nothing more.