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Loco Buri (Garen/Katarina)

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CJPwnz

Recruiter

07-24-2012

very interesting story, one of the best fanfics of leagues. I also like how you have writen Katarina. Keep up the good work!


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sjai47

Junior Member

08-03-2012

Bump because this deserves attention


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Lolrus Avenger

Junior Member

12-30-2012

Chapter 23 is published, and I was told by a reader to keep putting it up here. You can follow me as Krivoklatsko on tumblr.

Loco Buri
Chapter 7: Smoke and Mirrors



Katarina breathed, calming her nerves and trying not to move more than the trundling carriage was making her. A summoner named Grieve was crouching before her in the cabin, his hands wielding arcane mysteries around her eye. The bubbling of blood and the leathery stretch of skin was disturbing her senses, but it didn't hurt so much as itched. Muscles and bone slid like flotsam on a blood shore, snaking around nerves and tendons in the summoner's guided waves. The swelling had receded the day before, after a healer had sealed the wound to prevent infection. Now Grieve, a master of The Art, had the task of opening the wound to repair it. A sharp zip- the feel of skin splicing together- made Katarina's eyelid twitch and fidget without command. The pain subsided and she blinked under control again.

Grieve, his face barely visible under the elegant, black robes, blew on his hands, dispelling a green mist. He took a moment to adjust his cloak clasp, the emblem of Noxus.
"The wound is healed,” he rasped. Grieve bore a Necromancer's sigil on each shoulder, and a voice like death in his throat. Katarina leaned back into her chair while Grieve continued, “Allow me another moment to remove the scar."
"No,” she snapped. “Leave it."
On the opposite bench in the cabin, General Marcus Du Couteau glanced up from his espionage reports. He nodded to Grieve, who returned to his seat at the General's side.
"She certainly is your daughter, Marcus," Grieve smirked.
General Du Couteau smiled at the compliment, his eyes remaining on the papers in his lap. Grieve's interest in Katarina began at birth. Although the shadows disguised it, his gaze was on her for the entire ride.
"Still no magical aptitude?" Grieve asked.
Katarina seemed insulted. She held out the thumb on her right hand for him to see.
"Actually, I learned a little in Bilgewater."
She grabbed her thumb with her other hand, letting the digit poke through the gripping fingers and wiggle for show. Then she tugged on it, making a great facade of effort before letting it come off with a "pop." Marcus chuckled. Grieve, his face obscured by the hood, only stared.
Katarina wiggled the faux-separated thumb in her left hand's grip.
"Arr,” she tried. “That be me lucky thumb, too.”
She wiggled it again, trying for humor.
"A pity," Grieve finally mumbled.

The carriage jerked to a stop at his words, knocking a sheet of paper from General Du Couteau's lap to the floor. Katarina reached it first, her hand opening to reveal the cheap thumb trick. But she stopped when the paper was in her hand. Marcus swiped it from her, hiding the view of its header: a blossoming, black rose. Before she could think about it, knocking sounded against the door.
"We're here, sir."

General Du Couteau slipped his papers into a leather folder and secured its clasp while the cab's driver opened the door. Katarina was the first to step out into the Kalamanda City air. Grass, pollen, and wood fires from stone hearths were all she could smell. Kalamanda Village, she reminded herself. She turned south and had to cover her eyes. The beam of Mount Targon's peak was gazing down with power to match the afternoon sun. She felt her father's hand on her shoulder.
"Not to worry, Kat. We'll only be here a few days."
Katarina grimaced and followed her father and Grieve across the unpaved street to a three-floor tavern and Inn.
'Sudden Night Inn," with a mounted knight, was painted above the door. Katarina missed a proper education, and missed the pun as she stepped over the threshold. The interior was podunk-cozy, with an actual thresh floor for the thresh hold. Katarina was relieved to feel an actual wood floor below the hay, but could not appreciate the aesthetics. Barrels of grog were lined along the wall and several tables were pressed together in a large mass at the center of the room. Grand General Boram Darkwill was leaning over these, discussing maps with his generals.

"Atten-tion!"
Two corporals of the Crimson Blades saluted by the door. They and the other non-officers present stopped at parade rest for her entrance, hands gripped behind their backs and posture erect- a show of Noxian Pride. She stood aside for her father, a general; and Grieve, whose informal rank was usually treated as equal to Darkwill- in his absence.
"You're late, Grieve. Someone brief Couteau."
Boram Darkwill was not absent. Katarina found a place to lean while her father and the summoner were welcomed at the table. Boram pointed to an officer at his side without looking up. "Swain, Du Couteau. Du Couteau, Swain. Swain here is a wonderful tactician, Marcus. Probably replace you someday."
Marcus met Swain's eyes while they shook hands.
"I'll be sure and kill him before then, sir," was his way of a joke.
Katarina did not have her sister's social graces, and found great difficulty distinguishing her father's sense of humor from his threats. But when all three men smiled, she realized that there may not have been a difference to recognize.

Darkwill held up several sheets of parchment, finally raising his eyes from the table of maps.
"Your daughter's been very helpful, by the way. Keep hosting those parties; Laurent says too much."
Katarina shifted her weight against the wall. She remembered Cassiopeia marking the Freljord man. The Demacian Ambassador, Laurent, had said nothing of consequence. Katarina shifted her weight again, the thoughts discomforting her more than the surroundings. Cassie and Father had fought that night. Screaming and the thrashing of furniture was all that Katarina had been made privy to. Cassie had stayed in her room for the last three days up to the very moment that they left, father declaring her ill. No mail had left the house, either. How, then, did Boram Darkwill procure several pages worth of notes from her?
Cassieopeia's laugh startled Katarina into the present. She was leaning over the table with Darkwill, her eyes watching Katarina with the typical rival's spite. But she turned away as quickly as her laugh had made her appear, leaving Boram to be absorbed into the conversation with Swain.

"Are we expecting Sion?"
"This hour, sir."
"And the Demacians?"
Cassiopeia returned to the table with a mostly-empty pint of Kalamanda Tea from the bar.
"The Dauntless Vanguard should be here in three hours," she hummed.
"And you're sure about that, Cassie?"

Katarina couldn't help the sick feeling that crawled up her spine when Cassiopeia responded. First it was her body language: The lack of seduction, the air of overbearing elegance, and the glare that spoke something other than flirtation. This was nothing like her sister. When her lips parted and her voice enunciated in bursting strikes instead of desperate, dulcet tones, Katarina knew something had definitely changed.
"Really now, Boram,” she spat.
“Would I lie?"
Darkwill grunted as if to say, "Yes, but I'm a betting man."
He turned back to Swain.
"Security?"

Swain's chest puffed ever so slightly.
"They won't get in without alerting us. It will cost several men, but we should be able to track their progress by thirty second intervals, and continuously once they reach our wards."
"And how are the saboteurs?"
Here Marcus slipped a letter to Darkwill.
"The Demacians will have no artillery."
"Good," Darkwill nodded.

"Kat. I assume you've been briefed?"
Katarina stood off of her wall and came to parade rest.
"No, sir."
"I'm sure you've heard of Sion," Darkwill grumbled.
Katarina nodded quickly, recounting very little detail about a big brute.
"The Demacians are coming here to kill him, Kat."
Eager and ready, she laid her soul into her voice when she answered, "I will defend him with my life, sir."
Boram Darkwill sighed and continued speaking with a sidelong glance at High Summoner Grieve.
"He wouldn't be very useful if we needed you to do that. Sion is bait. You're going to let the Dauntless Vanguard kill him. Your job," and here Darkwill's gaze finally locked onto Katarina in full force. He raised a hand to point at her.
"Your job is to kill Garen Crownguard."


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OuttaControl56

Senior Member

03-20-2013

I luv you 4 this. Keep it up!


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