Post by Demacia's Wings on Jun 24, 2013 2:55:37 GMT -5
Though Quinn did not notice the subtleties of the girl's movements as her fingers touched flesh, she could not miss the snap of the maw, the claws springing out and the way the maiden seemed to know exactly where to stand. Even as her hand had returned to her side, the maid remained alert, eyes dangerous and even as the ranger pulled away she felt the way that lingering gaze seared into her body. Roiling seas of blue and gold twirled together, like the flags that were whisked straight into the clouds, it twisted upon each other until barely a spark remained. It was a dance, she realized. A dance of tunes and tones, of steel breaking upon rock and of light and dark. Where the horizons bled their colors into the icicles of the night and when the moon diffused its own rays of silver and grey, the dawn drank back its blood and surfaced the sun once again. Yet it was fading, and Quinn could feel her own heart pounding, threatening to spill her own mischief and secrets to the dusty ground. Still, she was willing to keep it to herself. Keep it locked up between her ribs and save the interrogation, the suspicions, for another day.
It was not to be.
She could not tear her gaze away as the girl swerved in front of her, disrupting her own motions before they even occurred. The distance shortened like a flame against a rope, it burned away and Quinn could not help but bend back slightly as if to ward off the invasive body. She saw the eyes, rippling azure, ignite into some form of incoherent rage, some undignified uncertainty and she had no answer. The voice was soft-spoken, laced with vitriol. The ranger glanced towards the group, the fading specks of bodies before her gaze wandered back. Again, the flecks of blue raged. Quinn suppressed her own irritations, trembling intonations coursing her body like a sickness she could never cure. The spark bounded in its prison, lashing out at the leather sides but she knew it could not burn. She had touched it with the barest tips of her fingers and had felt no pain, not yet. But it was enraged now and she could almost hear the rustle of the fire as it exploded in confinement.
How much of this could she take? This curiosity that withered her from the inside, the way her heart beat a crude tattoo against its cage. She could not sleep when the skies were painted black, for the image of her brother's broken face would float towards her from the shadows. Yet she was decidedly human; she fought for something, and she desired her brother's life above her own. Quinn had ripped the bigger picture from the walls of her mind, and her nails had been slick with blood as she buried the dead with only whimsical thoughts overturning her stomach. A sliver of terror gripped her once more and she twisted her mouth into a clenching frown. There was nothing worse, she said to herself. Caleb's blood-soaked tears and the droplets of ink that fell from his rotting limbs. This girl was dangerous, but she did not carry nightmares as gifts. She breathed in sharply, quietly.
"Yet a country does not make a person," she argued back defiantly, but the illness was spreading and she felt her hands shake - the barest tremor, the slightest earthquake but it jarred her senses. Her teeth set against each other, her jaw tightening. Quinn was being assessed, that much she knew. After all, she had done it herself so many times, the look in the maid's eyes could have never gone unnoticed. Yet the words continued to slip out smoothly. What else could she do but listen and wait? Quinn was certain the girl was without weapons, without arms but this was not a matter of physical prowess. Not now, when she was on the verge of simply losing control and break all hope of ever returning to where she could be. She was stalling, waiting for her limbs to maintain control yet as the maid's spitting words failed to raise her anger, she paused for a second.
Then, "Is it naivety?" Once, she would have been bold. She would have challenged the disbeliever for Demacia was always true and good. "Life and Death share the same room, the same bed. They are lovers. Hateful, gentle lovers." Her hands soothed against her side, trailing down to her belt, her fingers dancing along the faint, familiar outline of a small dagger. "The only thing they do not share is their kingdoms." Her eyes narrowed, her voice dropping as the implications re-surged and washed over her. "You too speak of blind faith as if you know it intimately." The object beneath the flap of her clothing seemed to reassure her to some extent but Quinn remained tense and cautious.
Valor would come for her. They had wasted a good few minutes simply teetering on the edge of a blade and the eagle was not patient. Quinn refused to call out, some part of her knowing that her windpipe would be crushed before she could let out a single note. Yet as the whisper danced its way out and filtered through her ears did the ranger tilt her head in a laughably innocent gesture. "The same reason why Noxus allows its maids to leave their city so unmarked." It wasn't a game they agreed on, but it was a game they were forced to play. The maid was no longer interested in hiding, the murderous intent palpable against the cool wind. "Isn't that right?"
The look of absolute hatred previously resident upon her visage almost seemed to dissipate as her expression softened. What was once merely a test, simply the assassin egging the other on had grown to be something greater as Katarina found herself drawn deeper into the discussion. A conversation that threatened to shatter her defenses; one that struck much closer to her heart than she had imagined. The woman’s eyes had dampened ever so slightly. It was barely noticeable save for the faint glimmer of orange. The burning sun had painted the thin layer of fluid adorning her eyes a fiery red; a vibrant sheen that contrasted ever heavily against the blue gems that seemed to have lost their previous luster. Her voice was tinged no longer by the teasing intonation when the blonde spoke up once more; talking plainly as the words slipped from her painted lips.
“No matter how successful one’s lies. No matter whether her peers believe in the façade.”
She slowly sped up as thoughts formulated within her mind. As the dissonance in perspective gave way to that which she knew best- a view garnered not from parroting the words of others but from experience she herself had struggled through. That she was living through.
“She will always know the truth. Lurking within the back of her mind. Festering… Growing…”
She nodded towards the countryside; all she could do while maintaining combat readiness. Her eyes never once leaving Quinn despite the movement; constantly scanning. Checking. Alert.
“Those you thought were your people will betray you when your true colours bleed through. It is inevitable that one day your guise will be torn away one way or another and those you thought were friends, compatriots will pick up their swords. When the wool upon their eyes is lifted, those you fight to defend will gather and collectively strike you down. No matter your achievements; you will be ostracized, banished by those you once saw as your kin. Their actions guided by hatred and fear.”
She inhaled slowly, the fabric hugging her form granted but a moment’s respite as the weave stretched once more. The cloth no longer hung loosely upon her thighs, having been contorted together with her posture; dragged upwards by digits that failed to secure that which they sought- yet it seemed the hilt they longed to grasp was still within reach.
“I speak of blind faith as if I know her intimately? Everyone was naïve at some point. Others it seems are content to live their lives within rules they set themselves. Afraid to cross the circle drawn within the sand. It is but a crutch. A worthless ideal held dear only by the weak and cowardly.”
Her peripheral vision alerted her to every breath the woman took. Every rise and fall of Quinn’s chest. The melody that was her controlled, steady breathing. The way the cloth she wore beneath her armour seemed to stretch effortlessly to caress her form- a contrast to the layered bronze that remained stalwart over the Demacian blue. Cascading bronze concealed by a feathered cloak. Leather straps holding the ensemble together. The white emblem pinned at the very top. The outline of something the assassin knew all too well; yet was seemingly foreign to the woman’s ensemble. A fact confirmed by the way the woman's digits danced upon the distortion.
Noxian Maids?
Katarina flinched. Although she was more than mindful that Quinn was aware of her origin it was still unnerving to hear it out loud. Silence the woman. A simple blow. Although no verbal confirmation was given, Katarina all but admitted to the idea; confirmed the Ranger’s fears. The time to dally was over. Her mission was compromised. A weak line of reasoning reverberated within her mind, steadily growing louder with every beat of her heart.
Swain had failed to contact her. Demacia had recently been invaded- the situation has changed. Even if the Lightshields have need to fill their ranks, her background was insufficient to get picked for such a role. One that descended from a line serving another that had been all but severed? Ridiculous. The ashes seemed to have settled from the conflict but wars ended not with but a single clash. Even if Quinn had nothing more than the faintest idea of her identify, her cover was already blown. It was only a matter of time. Not dealing with this now would only result in more variables. More uncertainty. More time where she had no control over her own fate. More opportunities to wallow in her vulnerability. Initiating combat would give the woman more precise details. Knowledge as to who she was. Even if the Ranger had been unaware of her status as one of the three blades, there was no way she could possibly step foot even remotely close to the Lightshield Palace.
“Noxus does no such thing.”
The restraint previously keeping the woman from immediately diving for the blade all but evaporated. The last vestiges of restriction thrown to the winds as adrenaline pumped- a certain excitement all too familiar to her coursed through her veins. A sensation that bordered on arousal silenced the concerns permeating through her thoughts. The assassin flickered as she lunged forward- her words the only warning to her outburst. She spun, readied muscles flexing as her right leg whipped forward towards the Ranger. A blow directed straight towards the Ranger’s head- yet low enough that it could be easily guarded almost on instinct. The ease of such an action completely intentional- designed to lead one’s prey into defaulting to their training. A feint meant to lure out the desired response.
Last Edit: Jun 30, 2013 23:09:45 GMT -5 by katarina
Post by Demacia's Wings on Jul 1, 2013 6:15:55 GMT -5
It rose straight from the belly of the beast, her flesh tingling and her skin crawling like small daggers etching into paper-thin secrets. It was not paranoia she felt. Quinn knew what was coming, what was to come. Just as a bird knew its wings were broken and the predator was on the prowl, it did not stop its motions. The ranger's hand continued to caress the knife, taking another step backwards. Her brow was furrowed, her eyes upon the ragged cloth the maid wore and her bare feet. It was a stark contrast to her armor of gold and blue. Attitude had changed, the winds of falsity coming to a pause as the girl spoke without motion or thought. Her words were stilted, almost robotic. As if she had practiced this conversation many times, the chill of death was there.
Quinn's pulse quickened, and her whisper was bare. "Your words are too pretty for your mask," it was an insult hidden behind clenched teeth. Her own voice was a staccato and struggling in strangulation. It was instinct that gripped her so tight, crushing the very air from her lungs as she sought purchase in the air around her. Even her inhales and exhales sounded forced.
She never enjoyed being cornered. The manifestations of shadow and monsters never frightened her. Even when trapped in the dark, or beneath the roots of a tree, she never feared death. It was the suffocation she hated. The tendrils of black creeping around her neck, muffling her vocal chords and blinding her eyes to the world - that was what she feared. She was neither prey nor predator, but in this exact moment, with eyes of azure and fire burning deep into her core, she felt her back pressed against the proverbial wall. Quinn hissed. The maid had a point she was unwilling to admit openly. No matter how she saw herself, her actions were traitorous. Her very thoughts, her intentions. If they were not for the good of Demacia, then they were not good at all. "You must have been through much," was her bitter response, though it was peppered with sarcasm, "To lose faith in people. Your people."
Quinn still hadn't quite figured out why she was replying. As if she were having a meal with an old friend, they exchanged such topics behind plastic smiles and restricted motions. The maid was, in her mind, a carnivore. Ripping into the proffered meat with bloodied teeth, refusing the offered cutlery. The Demacian herself refusing to eat, staying alert and that, behind cordial laughs, there was plenty for the both of them and for her companion to help herself. The imagery was dull, pulsating in the back of her thoughts as her eyes never left the maid's own. Both of their frames were wired, taut and cautious. She pushed a smile onto her countenance, slow and uncharacteristic of the situation. "Then you must also know naivete just as well."
There it was. The flicker. The switch. The motion. Quinn saw it. The way she saw rabbits running through the fields, the way the vein in Caleb's neck twitched whenever he lied, the way an eagle seeks its prey. The maid had reacted, and her suspicions were all but confirmed. She was no Demacian, and whether or not she was a maid was something Quinn was starting to suspect against. Still, it was easy. No housekeeper stood the way the smaller girl did, not with her shoulders angled and her legs set slightly apart. The mark of a fighter. She had watched soldiers train. She knew. And the maid knew it.
The words came quick, but the attack came quicker and all at once, Quinn sprang into action, her fingers reaching out for her dagger, barely touching the steel edge when the girl darted forward, lithe and feline. A panther. Her mind was racing, thoughts crashing against each other as her arms came up to block the high kick from connecting. The crash of bone on bone jarred her and the spark began to scream. Blood began to burst as it flowed through her veins, the floodgates that held the horror back crumbling. The ranger let out a low growl as her limbs tightened. Memories resurfacing, bubbling up to the forefront of her eyes; faces, faceless and dark, with mouths that continued to open without respite. It swallowed her vision whole, consuming and blanketing it in the void of nothing.
It was as if the nightmare was timeless, but at once, the present came rushing back in a euphoria of colors and sounds and scents. She gasped - a split second. That was all it was. Her eyes connected with the form of the maid, the length of the leg traveling up to where her arms touched the ankle. Almost instantaneously, Quinn made to shove the leg away in an attempt to free both hands in order to take a hold of her knife, the hilt beginning to slide precariously from her clothing.
The blonde remained unfazed. The same taunting expression shifting ever so slightly towards one resembling insanity. The hostility built upon itself, recursively fueling the subtle shift from one emotional gradient to another. The woman’s fangs had failed to strike their mark, halted moments away from her prey’s tender flesh. Katarina had expected the parry, yet it failed to dull the disappointment and frustration of lashing forth but being denied the satisfaction of a clean hit.
Flesh and bone reverberated as the woman winced- a foreign sensation shooting down her leg. How long had it been since she last dared to strike at an armoured target with but her bare foot? Such folly. The stringing pain radiating through her body served as a reminder of the last time she attempted such a feat; her body now remembering all too well the consequences of such a brash action.
Katarina teetered as her foot bounced away from the woman’s gauntlets- taking advantage of the reversing momentum to disengage. Her leg drew an arc in the air, shifting her weight forward with her upper body as she regained her footing. She punched forward with her right, disappearing before her blow landed- vanishing as both feet touched the warm soil. A mere puff of smoke and dust; an indistinct outline of what was once a faux Demacian maid. The fruit of years upon years of training- the signature ability was obvious to all who had borne witness to it prior. The final piece of the puzzle as to who she really was.
It didn’t really matter at this point that Quinn would know her identity. The assassin materialized behind her opponent; kicking up yet another cloud of debris. Katarina's punch remained on track as her fingers unfurled- digits outstretched as they reached for the Ranger’s exposed neck. Her other hand was seconds behind her first, shooting towards the woman’s hip to both displace the Demacian’s hand grasping towards the hilt as well as secure it as her own. She leapt forward, a simple dash that threw her footing but allowed her to close the distance even but a moment faster. There was no turning back.
Last Edit: Jul 10, 2013 18:49:18 GMT -5 by katarina
Post by Demacia's Wings on Jul 10, 2013 19:12:53 GMT -5
Quinn felt the distinct flinch tremble through the armor padding circling her forearm, but maid seemed unperturbed otherwise. The falconer's knife was almost within her hands, the hilt trembling against her palm just as her assailant recovered. Quinn's body tensed, her frame firm and taut as the maid's fist came speeding towards her, ready to respond. What greeted her, however, was silence. A kick of grit and fragmentation of stone that marked where the maid once stood.
The second the girl vanished, the ranger's thoughts snapped into motion - both in shock and recognition. The name eluded her, but the persona was there and the danger was all too real. She let a piercing whistle flow through her lips just as the Noxian's presence reappeared into the world once more, this time behind her. The situation was familiar to her, but this time, no Summoner magic was there to tell her what to do and what not to do. There was no restriction - not for her, and not for her.
Her eyes were on the incoming claws, ready to rip and tear into her throat. Quinn's arms came up, crossing to block the tiger strike, leaving the blade. Her life was in immediate danger, and though she knew that leaving a weapon open for the taking was a dangerous move, so was allowing the woman to sink her nails deep into her jugular vein. Valor's screech was a welcome sound as the dark blue eagle flew down at breakneck speed, his beak glinting sharply in light of the setting sun.
The shrill whistle rang out into their surroundings. A moment’s hesitation was probably all that Quinn needed to fend off the assassin- one she would have gotten were it not for the momentum in Katarina’s dive. The sadistic glint within the Noxian’s eyes only flared up and burned brighter as she recovered; her mind digesting the additional information. It was merely a time limit. The bird was out of visual range, having disappeared while it herded the girls towards the mansion- yet it was potentially close enough to hear its Master’s call. Within earshot. There was a chance it was a ruse, however unlikely it was. Demacia had only recently recovered from an invasion, after all.
Katarina’s claws gripped not the woman’s throat, but her wrist- fingers tightening as the assassin pressed her weight forward. She stumbled, tapping the ground uncertainly at first- following it with a more confident step and surging towards the Ranger. The assassin accelerated even more as she yanked at the woman’s hand, attempting to guide it aside while potentially pulling the woman closer. Possibly even parting Quinn’s guard.
It’s been said that one would remember their former strength as their hands gripped the hilt of her blade. Perhaps there was more merit to those words than she realized. The assassin’s fingers touched upon the leather caressing the hilt, grasping it firmly as the familiar sound of metal scraping against metal ground into the air. Another step followed as the knife twirled within her hands. Sunlight reflecting off the gleaming metal for no more than a second as the blade righted itself and thrust forth. She was going too fast. There was no longer enough time to adjust her aim. Insufficient time for a fatal blow. One figure pressed into the other in a forced embrace, the steel having disappeared as the two collided.
Post by Demacia's Wings on Jul 10, 2013 22:57:51 GMT -5
The steel grip on her wrist was nothing to the sweet symphony of air that washed through her lungs. Her heart was hammering, blood pumping furiously through her body as she caught the motion of subtle tugs against her side. Quinn gritted her teeth, not knowing whether Katarina - yes, the Noxian assassin - had succeeded in her quest for a blade, but what she did know was that whatever she planned next, it was far too late. She felt the cold warmth against her back, bared with blood lust
Valor's cries was a vicious musical to her ears as he raked forward with his talons just as the stinging bite of something sharp took hold of her. The eagle's claws attempted to imbed themselves into the Noxian's head, aiming for the delicate flesh and scalp from behind, knowing full well that he could attack from the front without harming Quinn. The ranger herself found the strength and chance to wrench herself away, pulling her wrist out of the assassin's grip as it loosened slightly. Another dry whistle escaped and Valor veered to the side, only to come back down, this time aiming straight for Katarina's eyes.
She struggled to remain standing, her fingers clutching at her stomach. The pain was not immediate; more of a discomfort at the feel of some foreign object. Quinn felt hot liquid streaming past and through her fingers as her digits found the firm surface of the blade's handle. A soft hiss emanated through her teeth, and not for the first time today, she wished she had thought to take her crossbow with her.
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