This was familiar, Soraka realized.
The clamor of the patrons around her, the mingling smell of booze and hot food that lingered under the thick clouds of cigarette smoke, and most familiar of all, the presence of the executioner. Indeed, Soraka thought, how amusing that they'd found themselves in this situation again.
But tonight, their situation was a bit different. Draven had never passed up the opportunity to be recognized by a fan, but Soraka had observed his attention straying. He hadn't even been showboating quite that much, which was entirely unlike Draven.
In fact, their time spent in the company of strangers wasn't entirely prolonged at all, for soon Soraka found herself in a stool beside him, drinks sliding down the counter and into their awaiting palms.
The pair laughed over mead and recounted the day's travels; the strange bird they'd seen overhead, a busker the starchild had insisted on patronizing, or even how she'd had nearly taken Draven's hand off with her horn in one of their sparring sessions.
And as they continued their prattling conversations, the drinks continued to come, with five or so between them ( three for Draven, in fact ). Soraka had reminded herself at the beginning of the night to pace herself, but liquor seemed to have quite the hold on her mortal brain now, a cloying grasp she hadn't quite experienced in her prime.
Eventually their bodies became heavy under the stupor of drink, swaying slightly as if swept by a breeze. Soraka's shoulder came to rest on Draven's own, mind muddy as she felt the words on her lips die away. When had the executioner become so loud?
She could hear him with her ear against his bicep, voice a thunderous roar through mortal flesh. She shuddered at the vibration it gave off. Were all mortals so noisy, or had the drink taken its hold on him too?
When Draven shrugs his shoulders, Soraka quickly peels herself from him, though neither of the two seemed to mind the prolonged contact when it had lasted. She manages a smile, eyes squinting as the executioner's face swam in her view.
In the low-light of the inn, she could barely make out how his hair fell past his crown, or the glint of his teeth in the lamplight. Had his eyes always been so dark?
"You're so interesting." Soraka blurted, a wobbly smirk distorting her words.
She spotted Draven's teeth through the blur, his face becoming larger as he leaned forwards with what she thought was a smirk. "I am an interesting man, Raka. I'm the posterchild of Noxus, you know, the number one rags-to-riches story in the nation. You should be impressed, be proud of it!"
Soraka holds herself upright for a minute, letting the words process as she looks to him with her eyes wide. "What do you mean?"
The mighty noxian's head shakes itself, a boisterous laugh echoing a hard slap on the bar counter. "Why, even the Glorious Executioner was a mere boy once!" Those words pull Soraka closer, chin resting in the crook of her palm as she strains to hear his impending tale.
"Before Noxus, Basilich was a monster in itself! It was just me and Darius, my brother and I against the world. It was fate that I became the popular man that I am today, did you know that? The one and only Draven doesn't even need parents of his own to survive against all odds!" Even with the swimming vision and his booming voice, Soraka could spy the smile on Draven's face, watching as it loosened after he spoke. Even while inebriated, she realized how little she truly knew about him.
Drunk as she was, the starchild still had a heart, her hand creeping along Draven's forearm and coming to rest against his wrist. He jerks away after a moment's hesitation, laughing, though this time it sounds nervous.
"Conqueror of all odds and devilishly handsome, who else but Draaaaven?" Professes the executioner, drowning his words with another swig from his drink. Soraka feels her lips sink into a frown, head tilting whilst she too takes a sip from her own stein.
How different were they really? Long ago had the stars become silent, her kin abandoning her for her transgressions. It was hard to cope with the silence. Forsaken from the stars, Soraka was lost in a world where the simplest of things she struggled with were merely a way of life for others, including Draven.
But right now, the starchild had no time to worry about this, for the alcohol still pulls at her mind, and she finds her spirit bolstered. Leaning back against the executioner, she once more lavishes him with drunken compliments she'd soon come to regret in the morning. Draven laughs once more and she feels her skin glow under the torchlight.
Maybe he was worth learning more about.