Small fingers pulled away from her neck, accompanied by a yelp.
Her attacker wasn't an attacker, but rather a small girl, who flinched at the sight of Quinn's blade and brought her hands up to her face, as though blocking her own vision would hide her presence from Quinn. A few seconds passed before she peeked through a crack in her fingers.
"Don't hurt me," she whimpered.
The girl was young – no more than eight years old – and she sounded terrified, but there was something off about her. Quinn was fleetingly reminded of herself, when she'd been younger. It was, Quinn assured herself, because of one very distinguishing feature – purple hair. It was a messy, short cut – like hers had always been because her father cut her hair to save money – and the tom-boyishness of it would have fit properly had the little girl been growing up on a farm.
"Sister?" the girl said, lowering her arms to meet Quinn's eyes.
Speechless, Quinn stared at the girl.
"Sister, please." The girl was visibly trembling. "Say something."
"I – you're mistaken," Quinn said, fumbling with her dagger before managing to put it away. "I'm sorry, I don't have a sister."
Immediately, the girl's eyes started to water. "But I came all this way to see you."
"All this way?" Quinn said, making an attempt to soften her voice. "What's your name? How did you get in here?"
The girl wasn't listening. She was overwhelmed by tears – an ugly and unnecessary sight – and Quinn wanted to console her, but before she could, the girl spoke again.
"Why don't you ever visit?"
It took a few long seconds to process the words before Quinn realized the implications.
Fuck.
A quick mental calculation did not help. She had left home six years ago, and the girl looked around that old, so it was possible – but still, a fourteen year age gap?
"You-" Quinn said. "-you're..."
No – it wasn't possible. Valor would have told her. He'd been to Everridge multiple times, to drop off money Quinn had scavenged to help run the farm. It simply wasn't possible that Valor hadn't realized – or even worse, had decided not to tell her. Adoption was another possibility, but it didn't fit with what the girl had said. No, none of the pieces fit. There was no possible way a little girl had simply walked into the Institute of War, and especially not during such a time of high security.
"No," Quinn said, eyeing the girl wearily. "Who are you? Did someone put you up to this?"
The little girl looked up with a crooked smile, contradicting the tear stained expression she'd worn a second ago, and then she transformed. She grew to twice her height, her physique morphing into that of a mature, voluptuous woman, and her hair ran through the rainbow of colours before settling on gold – not yellow, it quite literally had a metallic luster to it – but the woman's beauty was overridden by the obvious danger she posed.
Quinn pulled out her dagger again, wishing she hadn't ever been foolish enough to sheathe it in the first place.
"Who the hell are you?" she said.
The woman tutted. "This is a library, Quinn Attridge, please keep your voice down.
Quinn bristled. "Who are you?" she repeated.
But rather than answering, the woman reached forward. Quinn flipped the dagger in her hand, and attacked with the hilt. Before she could make contact with the woman's arm, however, the woman's body shimmered, vibrated, then disappeared. Quinn stared at the air where she'd been only a moment ago.
"Over here," a voice whispered directly into her ear.
Quinn froze. She could have turned and continued her offensive, but if instant teleportation magic was involved, she wouldn't be winning any battles.
"Smart girl," the woman said. "You learn quickly."
"Are you going to tell me who you are?" Quinn said, her finger stroking her blade.
Patience. If she was going to attack, she would need something more – a distraction, or reason for the woman to hesitate. As it stood, the ball was in the woman's court, and Quinn could only be patient. Slowly, she turned around.
"I apologize," the woman said. "Perhaps I went too far, but I wanted to judge your character for myself. My daughter easily gets carried away, and after you saved her, she wouldn't stop talking about you. Helen Crownguard, pleased to make your acquaintance."
This wasn't the first time Quinn had seen Helen Crownguard, but every other time had been from the other end of a room, when the woman was flaunting her family's status at a banquet, with a beautiful dress and enough makeup to reduce her age by decades. Up close, Quinn could see the resemblance with between her and Lux – if not in personality, then by the eyes, hair, and facial structure.
Quinn had, however, met Helen's husband, Oliver, up close. Quinn and the head of the Crownguard family had exchanged words on a few occasions, such as her promotion or when she returned from a particularly successful mission. As far as rich men from noble families went, he had seemed bearable. Now Quinn was questioning why he had marriage such a woman.
In spite of Helen's self introduction, she made no move to shake Quinn's hand. That, alone, was reason to be suspicious.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice...
"Likewise," Quinn said.
"You're quick to violence," Helen said, still regarding her carefully. "But I suppose that is expected of someone with your upbringing."
"What are you doing in Senta?" Quinn said.
"I decided it was due time to visit my daughter and-" Helen paused, half turning away to cough. "Apologies. The air in the library is so stale, it doesn't do well to my lungs. And then I heard she had been injured, visiting you. I had hoped you were a little more competent, considering how selflessly you acted to save her before."
"Is that so?"
"You don't buy it," Helen sneered, dropping her fake aristocratic voice. "Quit wasting our time, then."
The blonde disappeared – an illusion, dispelled. In its place stood a woman with black mascara, a lithe body, and purple lipstick. Her hair was purple – though it was darker than Quinn's and the little girl's hair – and if Quinn had been stupid enough not to be able to figure out who the woman was with that much information, the cape was a dead giveaway. The only thing missing was her staff.
Quinn exhaled, meeting LeBlanc's eyes.
"Relax, Quinn," LeBlanc said. "I would've thought you'd dispensed of all your murderous intent while on the Rift."
"I'll always have some left over, for people like you."
Her sensitivity to magic had already dulled so much that LeBlanc could sneak up on her – and it wasn't like Lux, who could be completely undetectable – and it was alarming, because the city would become much more dangerous, if she couldn't tell what magic was lurking in the back alleys.
"Is that any way to treat your long lost sister?" LeBlanc said.
"No – you're not-"
"Why not?"
Quinn grit her teeth. "You're lying."
"Cousins, then?" LeBlanc said, with a hint of faked optimism.
"No."
"But our hair colour, Quinn." She reached for a lock of her own hair and brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. "Natural purple is rare. Don't you just love it?"
LeBlanc smiled. The smile, and every other facial feature LeBlanc had shown, and her tone of voice and the way she moved when she talked – it was all intentional, and Quinn knew she shouldn't read into it, because if she did, she would find contradictions and oddities and it would only confuse her further, not to mention there was the possibility that the smile and the optimism was real, which was even more frightening, so Quinn opted for silence.
"My mother lived in Demacia, before she met my father," LeBlanc said. "I do think it would be interesting, to learn if we are related or not. Second cousins, maybe?"
"We can't be," Quinn said. "I can't even use magic."
"But you're a very good conduit. Piltover is developing a method to detect blood relations between humans. If you wanted, we could go there some time, participate in a trial and see. Does that interest you?"
"No. What do you mean by me being a conduit for magic?"
LeBlanc shook her head. "I only overheard Vessaria say it. You would need to ask her. I overhear lots of things, and they remain pieces of a puzzle, of which I don't know the size of. Until I find an adjacent piece, it has no context, and thus it is meaningless to me."
"What did you want with me?" Quinn said.
"I wanted to talk with you."
"And I think I'm fine not talking to you."
"Knowledge is dangerous. This is your second visit to the library, and your choices in reading are concerning." LeBlanc turned her back on Quinn, and stared upwards to the railing and shelves of the second floor. Quinn had all but forgotten her blade was still in hand. "You're pursuing knowledge quite aggressively, and I'm not comfortable letting it happen, especially with your most recent discovery."
"My most recent discovery?" Quinn said. "Then you know, don't you?"
"You'll have to be more specific than that, Quinn. I know lots."
"About the minions on the Rift. You want to keep it quiet, for some reason."
"And this bothers you?"
"It's wrong," Quinn said.
LeBlanc laughed. "What part of it is wrong?"
"What if some super sentient being came to Runeterra, and saw us as nothing but souls to be used for a game?"
"Souls for a game?" LeBlanc said. "Minions? I see."
Quinn blanched. "What?"
"You volunteer information so easily."
"... You didn't know."
"The monsters, too? The Baron Nashor clone? Giving him a soul of any kind would be very unwise."
Quinn clenched her teeth. "I'm not saying anymore."
"I'm joking, Quinn," LeBlanc said, stepping over to a nearby bookshelf. "I overheard your conversation with Vessaria – I already knew. This was only confirmation that I heard it correctly. And I don't want to keep it a secret. If I had proof I would go public immediately, but alas, something such as this is almost impossible to prove, and people, for some reason, aren't prone to believing what I say. I, on the other hand, believe what you've said. The original High Summoners were very cunning people."
"Then does Vessaria know?"
"She can read memories, so it shouldn't be a surprise that she's the second best liar I know, but no, I don't think she knows."
Quinn contemplated LeBlanc's words. They could very easily be lies. Everything she heard and said had to be considered carefully.
"What do you want? Why are you here?" Quinn said.
"I want to have a conversation. No tricks, no deceit-" LeBlanc snorted. "Okay, maybe some deceit, I really, honestly, can't help it – lying is, like, ninety five percent of what I do – but I'm not looking for a fight. I'll do my best to let my five percent for the day happen here, so let us talk."
"We've already talked. Isn't that enough for you, confirming what you heard?"
"If it was enough, would I still be here? No, I want to hear more. For example, I would like to know what you are doing here."
"You've been watching me read," Quinn said. The conversation was stilted, as she took her time carefully planning her words. "There's no way you don't already know the answer to that."
"No. I mean, here?"
"None of your business," Quinn said, remembering LeBlanc had also been in the crowd at her introduction, where someone had manipulated time – likely using Quinn as a target, because she was the only one who could remember going back five minutes. "You've been watching me longer than this, haven't you?"
"Don't be so difficult. I approach you not as a Noxian, but as an interested, independent individual. I imagine Swain wouldn't take too kindly to a meeting such as this, but I implore you, play not the part of Demacian, because doing so will be disadvantageous to both of us."
"I'm not going to tell you anything."
"Anything else, you mean?" she said with a coquettish smile.
Quinn ignored the gibe. She didn't know how to describe it, but it felt like LeBlanc kept switching personalities, and nothing she said was something Quinn could predict.
"But you do already know I'm researching souls," Quinn said. "And if you don't know anything about souls, you're of no use to me. I can talk to others. I'm willing to bet Ahri knows more than you do."
"Ahri?" LeBlanc said, pursing her lips. "I'm willing to bet she doesn't. What do you know about her? How she sucks the souls out of her enemy, through intimate contact, and consumes them to extend her own life?"
"Something like that," Quinn mumbled.
"Fiction. Untruths. Lies. I personally investigated this rumour very thoroughly, and I'm still in possession of my soul. It's not souls, which Ahri is after, but life essence, commonly found in blood and other bodily fluids of magical beings. Ahri siphons this essence out of her victim and uses it to strengthen the bond between her body and soul. My investigation did not yield any further information for my ongoing theories on souls, but it wasn't an altogether disappointing experience.
Quinn took a moment to pull herself together. LeBlanc had said she wouldn't lie, but that meant nothing. "Why should I trust you?"
"If need be, I could introduce you to her," LeBlanc said. "I could encourage her to answer any questions you have – it's one of the many benefits I have, being friends with her – but it would be a waste of time on everyone's part. If you're still not interested in conversing me, then perhaps I shall share some information with you for free. A show of goodwill. It has nothing to do with souls, but I imagine you'll find it equally as valuable."
LeBlanc raised her right hand, and Quinn flinched, but the woman took no heed of the reaction. Instead, she was focused on the space between them – the air itself. At the tip of her finger, sparks appeared, and then she began to move her finger through the air, and wherever it passed was left with a glow. Like she were holding a pen, LeBlanc began to draw an image. Quinn watched in silence, intrigued and, as always, weary.
"What's that?" Quinn said, once LeBlanc finished and the magic particles began to dissipate.
"A man."
"I can see that. Who is he? Why did you draw him?"
"He is one of those responsible for sending Lux to the hospital."
"He is?" Quinn said, before remembering who she was talking to. Her eyes flicked back to the image, but had already vanished. "How do you know that? Why should I believe you?"
"This narrative is getting boring. I'm offering you this information. If you don't want it, then fine."
"Wait." Maybe she was taking the bait, but if it was true – the man LeBlanc had just shown her was responsible for hurting Lux – then she'd regret it if she didn't follow up. "Can you put the drawing on paper? Something that will actually do me some good?"
LeBlanc didn't reveal any satisfaction as she pointed her palm outwards, towards one of the aisles of books. For a moment, she closed her eyes, and then she reopened them with an accompanying snap of her fingers. A few seconds later, a page – probably torn from a book – floated out of the aisle.
Quinn was mildly surprised when no stone golem dropped from the ceiling to attack them, or any otherwise defensive measures showed themselves. LeBlanc set the paper on the table and, with a finger, began to draw. Her choice of ink – or perhaps the only available to her – happened to be blood. Rather than appearing to be smudged by her finger, the red lines were fine, and Quinn watched as the macabre painting began to take the shape of a face – the same one LeBlanc had shown her moments before.
Before the painting could be finished, they were interrupted by a bang.
Quinn spun around just in time to see something exit the aisle from which LeBlanc had stolen the page.
Initially, Quinn thought it was the book, coming to retrieve its stolen page, but then she realized the moving blur had wings and a shell, and it was moving much too fast. With too much grace for what it actually was – a turtle – it decelerated and landed on the table next to LeBlanc, nearly crushing her finger as it covered the page. For a moment, nobody moved, and then the turtle snapped at her finger, which was still pointed towards the page, as though LeBlanc planned to continue painting despite the interruption.
"Please, Tamago?" LeBlanc said, kneeling down so she was level with the turtle resting on the table.
As if the turtle understood the request, he crawled off the paper, but it didn't seem he was satisfied yet. His listless eyes watched her as she resumed the painting.
Quinn cleared her throat, maybe wanting an explanation from LeBlanc, or for the turtle to magically start speaking in a deep, manly voice, but instead, the turtle simply turned his inky black eyes towards her. Immediately, she was reminded of the intelligence that Valor was capable of – and then she realized it would be a terrible idea to ever let the Demacian Eagle meet the turtle, and she would have to make sure he never entered the Institute's library.
LeBlanc pulled away from the painting, frowning pensively at it. "I'm not much of an artist, am I?" she said.
The painting was much like the one she'd drawn in the air, earlier, and it was enough to be able to identify the man, if she ever saw him in person. Yet Quinn was too distracted by the turtle with his wings folded at his side who was watching her with interested eyes.
"Um," Quinn said. "You two know each other?"
"Yes, Quinn," LeBlanc smiled. "Meet Tamago, the library's guardian. He's a very churlish, greedy turtle."
"He doesn't look it," Quinn said, though it was more to be polite than anything.
LeBlanc reached out and patted Tamago's shell. "They never do, do they? Tamago, this is Quinn. She's possibly a relative of mine, so be nice to her."
Tamago bobbed his head.
"Nice to meet you, Tamago," Quinn said.
LeBlanc pushed the painting over, and Quinn pocketed it, keeping one eye on the Noxian and the other on the library's guardian.
"This is my favorite place in Senta," LeBlanc said to her. "Do you know why?"
"The library? Because it has information?"
"Knowledge, and silence. Two of the greatest things in the world, both contained within a single place."
Without warning, Tamago extended his neck and nipped at her cape. LeBlanc flicked his shell in admonition. With a swish of her fingers, a pristine red rose appeared in her palm, and she offered it to the turtle. He snatched it with alarming speed and began happily munching on it. LeBlanc returned her attention to Quinn.
"Oh, and I nearly forgot," LeBlanc continued. "I do have a name for this man. First name only. Kaiser."
"Kaiser," Quinn repeated. The name sounded evil, and she wondered if it was because she was biased.
"Yes. He's Demacian." LeBlanc waited a measure. "You don't react."
"I've no reason to believe any of this."
LeBlanc sighed. "Ziggs will confirm it for you. When he gives you the same name, please do remember that I'm telling the truth."
"I don't think I'd trust you, even then."
"You won't need to. Just knock on Kaiser's door, and I imagine his reaction will answer any doubts you have. Now, go ahead. Converse with me. Ask me a question."
Quinn was reminded of Karma. Did everyone in the League of Legends see themselves as information brokers? It felt like 'conversation' had taken on a new meaning, with these people. That wasn't to say that she didn't have lots of questions she wanted answers to, but she had to be careful not to taint her knowledge by letting lies through. For every question she asked, she would need to remember not to accept the corresponding answers as fact.
With that in mind, Quinn prepared herself to take full advantage of the opportunity.
"Has Noxus tried to recruit Thresh?" Quinn said.
"Yes. Multiple times."
"And he refused?"
"He snubbed us, actually," LeBlanc said, managing to sound offended. "We've been unable to even get an answer from him. It's a little infuriating. I accompanied Swain on one of the visits, and we couldn't get a single word out of him."
"Then what do you know about him helping Zaun?"
"I've looked into it, but haven't found any solid information." LeBlanc's hand reached out to pet Tamago, and if it had been anyone but her, it would've seemed like it was a completely subconscious action. "I imagine he owed Warwick, or there is some kind of deal or bond between the two of them, because Warwick was the one who made contact with him. Zaun has been surprisingly uncooperative with us recently, so I know little. It's indicative of something more. This is speculation, but I wonder if they've come across a powerful artifact and do not wish to share it with us. Power so quickly goes to the head, and the Zaunite Council is no exception. There is nothing they wouldn't do to gain an advantage over Piltover."
"What do you know about Thresh? Anything else, aside from what the Institute of War has said?"
"Questioning everything I see. Good habits. However, it seems you're the most knowledgeable about him at the moment. Have you considered paying him a visit? If you contact the Institute's council, I imagine you could set up a meeting with him. I wouldn't be surprised if he spoke to you."
"What was with my first match on the Rift?" Quinn said, changing tacks. "Why did Noxus throw it?"
"Here I am limited in what I can say. You've offended Swain, at some point in the past."
Tamago tried taking a bite out of LeBlanc's cape again, and she produced another rose from him to chew up. He was like a dog, though a little less endearing and a lot more dangerous.
Quinn refocused. Did LeBlanc know anything about Marcus Du Couteau's survival, and his plans?
"Who is your enemy?" she asked.
"Want me to list them all?" LeBlanc smirked. "I kid. I have only a single enemy, and the rest of you are inconveniences, or tools to be used-"
"Is Noxus just a tool?"
"Yes."
"And the Black Rose, too?"
LeBlanc's eyes narrowed. "You don't tread as carefully as the others, I see. You are a very unrefined individual." She said the last bit in the same voice as she used for Helen. "I should think it's my turn, but don't worry, I'll make it quick."
Quinn waited, a little restless at the possible questions she would be asked, but LeBlanc wasn't in a rush. She summoned a third rose, laid it in front of Tamago, and watched him begin to munch on it.
"Your father or your mother – which one had purple hair."
It was safe to answer. Anyone who travelled to Everridge could get the answer. "My mother."
"Did your brother have purple hair?"
Quinn sucked in her breath. LeBlanc took no notice of the tension that overtook Quinn's body. It was another question which answering wouldn't have any unintended consequences, yet Quinn was angered by the way LeBlanc had casually brought it up.
"No."
"To the best of your knowledge, are you related to anyone in the League of Legends?"
There was no apparent chain of reasoning from which these questions came from. Was LeBlanc aimlessly fishing for information, or did she know something Quinn didn't? It was probably the latter, which made answering the questions all the more dangerous. Yet in the end, Quinn couldn't see any valid reason for not cooperating.
"No."
"Well then, last question. Tell me about your back-story."
"My back-story?"
"It's so cliché that I don't think a single Noxian believes it. A commoner from a no-name village in Demacia joins the military, climbs the ranks, and catches the prince's eye? It's a facade, perhaps? Hiding your true identity. A shape shifter, a dark magic user, a goddess, or what-have-you."
"I'm not – not even you believe any of that."
"No. It was just a test. Then that wraps up my questions."
"That's it?"
"Is there a problem?"
"What was the point of those questions, then? I might have lied."
"You didn't lie. As for the point – if you liked my earlier puzzle metaphor, I was searching for a piece to connect everything. Zaun's secrecy, Thresh's appearance, souls on the Rift, some other things. Is it possible they are all connected? By what pieces? Could Lissandra be the key?" LeBlanc smiled. "Something brought her out of Freljord for the first time in five centuries, and I would like to know what it is, before it becomes common knowledge."
There it was. Confirmation that Lissandra was actually the reason behind the banquet. Quinn didn't think it very important information, but LeBlanc had offered it nonetheless.
"Her beautiful ice age, no?" Quinn said.
Again, LeBlanc smiled. "If that's what you want to believe. And before I leave, Quinn, I'll answer one more question that you asked – however rhetoric it may have been. 'What if super sentient beings came to Runeterra, and saw us as nothing but souls to be used for a game?' Here is my answer: there's a hierarchy, a food chain, echelons of species, and the ones on top have every right to do whatever they please with those below them. It's survival of the fittest, Quinn. One thing Noxus does have right. If we cannot defend ourselves from a greater species, then so be it. We will face the punishment – their whims become our lives. I believe the very same goes for the souls on the Rift. While they appear to us to be inactive, maybe dormant or non-sentient, they could indeed be living their lives, communicating between each other and feeling emotions. It does not matter that we cannot sense it."
The air between them shimmered, and then LeBlanc disappeared.
Her voice continued, speaking to the library at large. "Because those we are greater than, we trample underfoot, and those who have transcended us, we can do nothing but worship."
A/N: Yuri recommendations: Tokyo Intermezzo (rated M for lemon), Postage!, Cellphones. As usual, these can be found on my favorites list (and they don't require prior knowledge of the fandom).