Posting my first fic on the FF forums, I was encouraged to give it a shot and was reassured that you're mostly pretty open minded, so here I am.
Seriously though, Darius and Ezreal?
Let's put it this way, it started out as a joke, friends told me to write it for fun. The fluff and romance is most likely going to be sparse. You can't really write a Noxian as a flowers and chocolates type of guy, and I won't try to. I'll do everything I can to keep everybody in character. I have to apologize in advance for the first chapter. I'm not in my writing groove, and I'm really excited by writing a new story, so it's a bit disorganized.
Chapter One: A Wager
Word Count: 5,700 (roughly)
Characters: Draven, Ezreal, Taric, Darius, Thresh (barely)
Warnings: Mild violence
At a Glance: After an embarrassing defeat on Summoner's Rift, Draven proposes a challenge to Ezreal with unique consequences for the loser.
A general warning, this fic will eventually venture into content that would be above a PG-13 rating, and for future chapters, I will link off to ff.net or tumblr.
The Glorious Executioner growled to himself, feeling a burst of energy burning against the skin of his arm. A summoner had chosen him for another match; only natural that they picked the best. It was a surefire win, if not for the obnoxious little whelp he had to go up against. Ezreal, the prodigal brat from Piltover. It wasn't as if the kid was better than him; of course not, nobody was better than Draven, especially not some dumb kid. But his snide comments, the arrogant laughter really tested his patience, which he had very little of to begin with.
He was getting frustrated by how the boy continued to talk tough and act like he was some amazing spectacle, no matter how hard he threw his axes at the little brat. It barely mattered, he could jump out of the way of his axes, and even when he did take a hit, his knight in sparkling armor would heal back whatever he'd lost, or startle him with his pretty gems so terribly that he couldn't move - it lasted for no more than two seconds, yet felt like an eternity, one wasted moment could completely throw the fight in the enemy's favor. He was getting frustrated, and a frustrated Draven was a sloppy Draven.
He threw his next axe with all the force he could muster, smiling as he heard a satisfying groan of pain. Admittedly, he took an unhealthy amount of pleasure from having an excuse to shed blood. Probably indicative of some psychological disturbance, but he couldn't be brought to care. There were more sadistic members of the League to be concerned about; Thresh, for instance, who he had ended up laning with. The dead warden lusted for blood and pain more than any of them; enough to make even the most cold-hearted Noxian a bit squeamish. He couldn't deny that it was a bit discomforting when he'd throw up his five-sided box, screaming that he owned all the unfortunate souls he'd trapped within it, even if they were fighting on the same team.
"What, is that all you got?" He glared at the little blonde brat as he dared mock his skill with a blade. Healed back to full health, of course. "How old are you anyway, forty?" The kid needed to be put in his place, but he couldn't do that so long as his sparkly man servant was still breathing. "You should probably reconsider your career choice, you're getting slow with that throwing arm." Draven hissed as the brat fired off another shot at him, one he barely managed to side step. He could hear heavy footsteps approaching from behind, he turned towards The Chain Warden, who had returned from the shop with full health and some useful trinkets. The Noxian stepped back a little, not taking his eyes off the Piltovian brat.
"Took you long enough." Draven hissed at the spectral warden. "Listen, we need to take out Sparkles. He's not gonna let us lay a finger on Pretty Boy as long as he's around to stop it." He growled at his assistant, assigning their enemies with nicknames he found all too fitting. "Do you think you could hook him in and shield me while I run in for the kill, or slow him or something?" He wanted nothing more than to grab the little brat, taking him by a fistful of his pretty golden locks, and shove his face into the dirt. Show him what happened to anybody who dared to doubt his superiority over them, make him eat his words. He would have it, soon enough, he promised himself. He would teach the brat not to cross him again.
The two set their agreed plan into motion. The Warden waited for the signal, then took his chance to strike, engaging the gem-clad Knight first with a well-aimed hook. Draven smiled, closing in on the fight, tossing axe after axe, merciless as he hacked away at the Knight's life, tearing through his armor. He ignored the blonde brat's attempts to hurt him. Of course, the wounded tried to escape, clumsily using one of his gems to stun the Warden, healing himself quickly. He began running in the other direction, much to the Executioner's pleasure. He loved a running target. Mustering all his strength, he threw his axes with all the force he could, watching as they practically rolled across the battlefield like a pair of wheels. They chunked away at the last of the Knight's health; he collapsed on the ground. Draven smirked over at the Warden, who collected the man's soul within his lantern.
Ezreal paused for a moment at what had unfolded before him, suddenly he had lost his confidence. His moment of hesitation proved to be a mistake, he felt the Noxian's axes driving into him with terrifying force as they returned to the Executioner. His eyebrows lowered into a glare, he focused himself. His only hopes were to either fight with everything he had or run away and admit his defeat. He breathed in deeply, channeling all of his energy into a single attack, letting out a cry of strain as he pushed a wave of energy out, aimed directly at the Executioner. It passed through him, and the Warden who accompanied him. They were on even ground. He watched as a hook came flying his way, in a panick, he used his magic to get safely out of its reach. Draven laughed, shaking his head at the clumsy display.
"Nobody here to fix your mistakes for you now, girly." Draven smirked, tossing an axe at him, managing to hit him full-on, causing him to stumble to the side. He backed up, limping away, hoping to create some distance. They closed in on him, the Warden jumped in, throwing up dreadful walls around them. He made the mistake of attempting to pass through it; he might have narrowly escaped, but he felt terribly exhausted, his legs not moving anywhere near fast enough. Draven caught up to him, he prepared for the impact of another axe. Desperately, he ran towards the tower, his last safe place. He was near dead, but he kept fighting. He shot at them when they drew too close to him; they were in a bad state, just like him, they couldn't afford to risk themselves. He was flooded with relief as he heard heavy, familiar footsteps behind him. Taric had returned, and took no hesitation to heal his companion, repairing his wounds a surprising amount.
"You handled yourself well." Taric smiled at him. "You should head back and heal up." He suggested gently. Ezreal wouldn't deny that he appreciated the man's gentle nature and kindness, but it wasn't what he needed at the time.
"Not yet. Not until I get back at these two." Ezreal stated. "Be ready to stun one of them." He advised, running back towards the two enemies. Taric followed closely behind, not at all surprised by how risky the Prodigy was being. He was young, he didn't think things through. Sometimes it paid off on the battlefield to have somebody so stupidly confident in themself, other times it turned out to be inconvenient, a reason for many needless mistakes. He watched as Ezreal fired off a blast at the Warden, he followed in and did what he could, quickly healing the blonde just as he managed to defeat the Warden. Tossing out what he could, he managed to hit the Noxian with a stun. Quickly, he raised his hammer and brought it down to the earth, his armor letting off a glow, empowering the Prodigy just as he switched his focus, firing off just a few more shots at the Noxian while he was immobilized. Draven muttered his curses as he fell, closing his eyes as he felt the pain disappear, his consciousness slipping from him until it faded completely.
The battle only went downhill from there for the Executioner; Ezreal kept killing, and because he kept killing, he kept getting stronger, which allowed him to kill more and more. Draven did his best to avoid being caught by the brat alone, but it proved useless. Somehow, the Prodigy always found him, always killed him, even when it was barely worth his time. He was convinced that the kid only did it to mock him. His teammates couldn't decide who they wanted to blame for the disaster of a battle, so they took turns bad-mouthing each other. Occasionally, the blame was placed on him; he responded by lashing back, talking twice as tough as they did, pointing out their flaws - they deserved it. Unsurprisingly, their defeat came shortly, he stood at their team's Nexus, growling to himself as he could do nothing but watch it die. Ezreal was there, of course.
"Noxians... I hate those guys." He caught the blonde saying faintly. The mere utterance, the suggestion of such disrespect for Noxus, only fueled his rage further. The brat needed to be knocked down a peg or two, and he had to be the one to do it.
Draven met up with his brother after the disaster of a match was over. The two mostly resided within the Institute of War, as did many of the other Champions of the League. The housing quarters were generously roomy, although he'd been told that was a luxury mostly enjoyed by Champions and significant members of the Institute. It was better than living in Noxus; it was his home, but he preferred to not have to routinely check to make sure his coin purse was still within his possession.
"So, you got beat up by a snotty kid today." Darius pointed out, much to his brother's annoyance. "How does that feel?" Darius was shooting him a look of mixed amusement and disapproval.
"Feels wrong." Draven answered with a growl, "Unacceptable." He stated, "Stupid kid used his stupid sparkly man-servant as a crutch. Can't fight me at all on his own, but I could never get him alone." The Executioner hissed. "I get stuck with the worst summoners." He grumbled.
"Demand a rematch if he really hurt your pride that much." Darius shrugged. "Just you and him, no crutches." He suggested all he could. He wasn't particularly thrilled to have heard that his brother had lost to a Piltovian. It shouldn't have mattered to him, but he wanted his brother to make things even.
"What if he refuses?" Draven questioned.
"He won't." Darius laughed, "Remember what I told you? If you want to bring somebody down, you learn everything about them, and find a way to turn it all against them." The elder brother reminded, a lesson he'd taught well when they were younger, "He's a spoiled brat. Thinks the concept of danger is all good fun, doesn't know when to back down." He pointed out. "So challenge him, and if he refuses, question his abilities. He's too proud of himself to turn you down. That's your advantage."
"Hmm..." Draven pondered the thought. "Well, let's go find him, then." He grinned, setting off down the hall with his brother in tow. The Blood Brothers stalked the Institute's hallways, carried by quick feet; it was clear to all that they were predatory, the sharpness with which they scanned the environment for their target was visible in their eyes. The Executioner asked himself where he would find the Piltovian - most likely with the Gem Knight, who spent his time in a certain lounge after matches - and made his way there. Surely enough, there he was, a full, mocking smile beaming off of that hideously smug face of the Prodigy. Draven approached the blonde, who was, as he had guessed, in the company of The Gem Knight; laughing over how good he was, his false beliefs in his skills. The Noxian's eyes were filled with spite and intent, he made his presence known by clearing his throat. Ezreal turned to him and smirked.
"I want a rematch." Draven stated with a growl. A single laugh burst from the Prodigy's mouth.
"What, haven't learned your lesson yet?" Ezreal questioned, his words coated with pride. The kid was in love with himself, it was sickening. Nobody deserved to think so highly of themself, unless it was him, Draven.
"No, you haven't learned yours." The Noxian stated, as his brother simply observed.
"What lesson? That I'm a way better fighter than an old man without even trying?" Ezreal questioned. Every self-righteous comment the brat spoke only made him more eager to put the kid in his place.
"No, that you can't fight without somebody else around to be your crutch." Draven stated with a hiss, causing the blonde to pause, a look of disbelief washing over his face.
"You're just mad because you lost." The Piltovian crossed his arms over his chest, failing to mask a moment of insecurity.
"Really? If you're so much better than me, a one on one fight should be nothing for you." Draven stated with a shrug, his brother smiling slightly at the hints of manipulation. "Unless you don't really think you're as good as you say you are." Ezreal frowned.
"When and where?" The blonde questioned.
"Ezreal, you do not have to prove anything to him." Taric cut in, grabbing the young one by the shoulder.
"Back off, this is none of your business." Darius stepped forward, growling at the Knight. "It's between my brother and blondie."
"Ezreal is my friend, I am free to give him advice if I believe he is acting on impulse." Taric stated calmly.
"So you don't think he can do it without your help?" Darius questioned, raising an eyebrow, only serving to aid his brother's deceitful proposal.
"I did not say that, I simply meant-" Taric tried to explain.
"No, he's right." Ezreal agreed with the Noxian. "Sorry, Taric, but this has nothing to do with you." He apologized. "So, when and where?" Ezreal repeated the question. Draven smiled slightly; he'd played the kid into his hands.
"Tomorrow night, Summoner's Rift." Draven answered. "No Summoners to play puppeteer, no back-ups. Just you and me."
"No foul play?" Ezreal questioned, "I know you Noxians can't resist fighting dirty." He hissed, not shy to express his bitterness towards Noxus, even when faced by two of its deadliest warriors.
"I don't need to fight dirty to beat you." The Executioner stated.
"Alright then. Tomorrow night." The Prodigy agreed, holding out his hand to seal their deal. Draven reached out, but paused, pulling back for a moment.
"Wait." He said, "Let's make this more interesting, shall we?" He suggested.
"How?" Ezreal questioned, curious.
"We'll raise the stakes. Wouldn't be fun if your only reward for winning was some ego-stroking, would it?" Draven questioned. Ezreal hummed in thought.
"I'm listening." The blonde said, urging him to continue.
"The winner gets to have the loser as a personal servant for two weeks." Draven offered. Ezreal paused, frowning slightly. "What, not interested? Shouldn't be a worry for you if you're going to win." He stated.
"Make it months." Ezreal demanded. Draven smiled, spitting on his hand before reaching out. A bit taken aback, the blonde followed suit, spitting into his palm somewhat awkwardly.
"I really think you should reconsider this." Taric advised, only to be ignored as the two grasped each others hands firmly.
"Deal." Ezreal agreed. Draven smirked as he released the blonde's hand, nodding and turning on his heel, his brother trailing along behind him.
"Seeya later, girly." Draven laughed to himself. The Piltovian frowned slightly at the name calling. He shook his hand out to the air, hoping to get some of the other man's spit off of him. He glanced over at his companion, staring up at the man who stood nearly a foot taller than him, who was giving him a scolding look.
"What? Nothing wrong with a little competition." He shrugged, careless for the risk he was taking.
"Did you stop to think for a second that maybe he was so intent on a rematch for a reason?" Taric questioned, his voice expressing his disapproval. "Why he decided to throw in that extra part of your deal at the last second?" He went on, "He would not offer something like that unless he was entirely sure he would win."
"Or unless he's an idiot." The blonde said dismissively, "Which he is."
"I am being serious, Ezreal." The brunette said with a firm tone, "I have fought beside Draven before, and I am certain that he has something sinister planned." He warned, "He would not take such a great risk at himself, I believe he has played your self-confidence against you to achieve something else." Often times, it frustrated the Knight to care so much for somebody so impulsive, especially when his advice was brushed off and ignored. "I know you do not like the people of Noxus, but from what I have learned during my time on Runeterra, I do believe there is more to them than brute force. They are equally skilled at bloodshed as they are at psychological warfare and manipulation."
"So what? What's so bad that he could do to me if I lose?" Ezreal questioned. The Gem Knight was plenty patient, and he cared deeply for the Piltovian, but somehow the Prodigy was wearing down his ability to remain composed.
"I do not know, I simply think you need to learn how to take more caution. You may dislike Draven, but that does not mean he is stupid." the Gem Knight couldn't shake off a feeling, an instinctive knowledge that things were going to go horribly wrong, and he would be the one the Prodigy would be lamenting his troubles to. It was the way things always were; he warned Ezreal of a dangerous situation, Ezreal ignored him, Ezreal got hurt, Ezreal complained, yet still never considered taking his advice into account before he made decisions.
"Wow, so you really don't think I can do it." Ezreal remarked, frowning. He was ready to rip his hair out; what he meant to be care, the Piltovian heard as faithlessness and doubt.
"I did not say that! I do not want you to get hurt, Ezreal." Taric corrected, raising his voice, "I believe you have made a mistake by accepting Draven's challenge, he has killed men for years to make a living, and you only took up fighting because you were mistakenly summoned to the League." He pointed out, "I do believe you are strong, and a naturally talented fighter, but you do not have anywhere near the amount of experience that he has."
"Well, I can't really back out now." It was beginning to sink in; He had agreed to a match against somebody who, he hated to admit, knew better what to do on the battlefield. Killing was the Noxian's job; the most he ever did was run around in uncharted jungles and hope he had enough supplies with him.
"Are you starting to understand why I did not want you to agree to this deal without thinking it through first?" Taric questioned; the Piltovian swore the man could read his mind, on many occasions he seemed to know exactly how he felt, what he was thinking.
"Yeah, I really am..." Ezreal answered with a sigh. "How can you tell?" He questioned, "You always know what I'm thinking."
"I pay attention." The Knight stated, as if suggesting the Piltovian learn from his example, "I can see a lot simply by looking at you."
"I'm having second thoughts now." The Piltovian made a face of worry.
"You have to fight him now." Taric reminded, "Just be careful of him, do not let your ego cloud your judgement."
"Taric, you've fought in some real battles before, right?" Ezreal asked, watching as the brunette nodded in response, "Do you think you could help me practice a bit before I go up against Draven? Maybe teach me a few things about combat."
"It is the least I could do." Taric smiled.
"So, now you've manipulated a child into agreeing to fight you when you know there's no way he can win against you." Darius stated, as he made his way towards the Institute's living quarters with his brother. "Good use of exploitation, you've gotten better at being discreet." He never would have expected to hear himself calling his brother discreet, and yet he had; needless to say, he was proud.
"Well, I learned it from the guy who raised me." Draven smirked; it was true, Darius had taught him a good number of underhanded tools and tricks of survival, but there was much he had learned on his own. "I'm not too big on the whole 'subliminal brainwashing' thing though. Not flashy enough for me." He admitted; it was no surprise.
"You've learned well" Darius complimented; perhaps he had fed his brother's ego too much when they were younger, he often wondered if Draven would have grown up to be less self-obsessed had he been harsher in his teachings. "You know he can't win now, right? You won't be stuck with some idiotic Summoner who doesn't understand you well enough to fully utilize your skills." The elder brother pointed out, "There's nothing he can do against you." He stated with complete certainty.
"Yeah, I know." Draven smirked, "I mean, he's already lost, being put up against the best throwing arm in Valoran." Darius nearly let out a sigh at his brother's egotism. "But really, even an idiot could take this little brat down if they followed my example." It was mostly true; Draven's battle strategy, by its nature, was perfect for dealing with the Piltovian prodigy.
"Just don't let your advantage on him get to your head. Stay focused, don't slack off just because you're ahead." He reminded; he did his best to keep Draven in line, even if his efforts often seemed wasted.
"Don't worry about it. I'm gonna have this kid kissing my boots tomorrow night." Draven laughed wickedly.
"And all of this because he tried to be half the narcissist you are." Darius joked, knowing Draven hardly minded being called anything along the lines of a narcissist. Self-obsessed, egomaniac, conceited; they were all names he wore proudly, and he figured he deserved to.
"Hey, nobody should love themselves more than they love me. That's the rule." The younger brother stated simply, as he approached the door to his room. "Anyway, I think I'm gonna wind down a little. It's a real shock to the system, seeing somebody think they're better than the Draven." He said, pulling out a key from a pocket on his vest.
"Have fun." He faintly heard his brother saying as he unlocked the door. He stepped into his room, glancing around quickly at his choice of decor.
"I think I need another mirror in here." He muttered, crossing his arms over his chest as he shut the door with his foot. "Think? Who am I kidding?" He questioned out loud to himself, "I don't need to think to know... It never hurts to see more Draven." A quick laugh burst from his mouth before he carried on, pulling at the buckles that held his arm guards on.
In honesty, Draven scarcely ever doubted himself, simply placed blame when he didn't do as well as he should have. He was infuriated that he could be beaten by a child who was scarcely strong enough to lift a blade, but not with himself. It was anybody's fault but his own; he could land an axe on a running target that was too far away for him to even see, clearly he was being held back by idiotic, clumsy summoners, and even worse team mates. He growled, muttering to himself, he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. Sometimes he talked to himself just so he could listen to his own voice, sometimes he simply enjoyed having his own company. It was a habit he'd developed as he grew up; as children, Darius advised him to speak to himself quietly if he ever got lonely. He didn't notice it much, but he still had an odd tendency to chat with himself when he was alone or bored of whatever company he had.
His brother had been more than generous to him when they were younger. He wasn't much of one for honor and loyalty, but he knew he owed Darius for his kindness. Nobody had forced him to take care of his younger brother, yet he did, all because of the one rule they lived by; never betray your own blood. Darius had taught him much that he needed to know in order to survive; how to hold a blade, which places to strike in order to do the most harm. Perhaps Darius was more fond of the specifics, of precise cuts and efficiently slicing away at the places that would lose the most blood the fastest, but it was undeniable that the Executioner's technique reflected the one of his teacher.
He sat on a cushioned chair, leaning back and stretching his arms above his head. He at least owed it to Darius not to embarrass him by losing a fight against a child. His victory was assured for the following night, he would make up for his shameful defeat by beating the bratty kid into the ground; Ezreal's legion of idiotic fangirls would realize their wrongs and sing their praises of Draven instead. Girls liked a pretty boy like the scrawny Piltovian, but they would see the error of their ways surely enough, they would see the glory and total perfection that was Draven. They would all see, and they would all be sorry for ever having a shred of doubt in him.
He would make sure of it.
I actually have to split this post up because I've exceeded the text limit :\
Intermission time, I suppose.
Shhh I didn't hit the text limit.
The night came and passed, a new day emerged over the grand halls and towers of the Institute of War. Ezreal had awoken from a particularly comfortless sleep; his growing nervousness had plagued him through the night. His muscles were stiff and aching as he rose from his bed, a noise of frustration passed his lips as he stretched his arms out. Never had a needless worry kept him up at night, it irritated him to know the Noxian's mind games had gotten through to him. Dressing himself quickly, he made his way out of his room with no hesitation.
It was rare that he stayed at the Institute, more often than not he was out traveling, or at home with his parents in Piltover, who worried for their precious boy, despite how many times he told them he would be safe on his own. He had nearly forgotten which room was his, or what it even looked like; luckily for him, his sense of direction rarely ever failed him. He hadn't been surprised when he walked into his room and found it sparsely decorated, save for one or two things of his he'd thought he lost on a journey. Making his way down the hall, he stopped in front of a door, another within the living quarters. It was early, he had time to get more practice in before he had to face off against Draven. There was a muffled groan heard on the other side of the door. He knocked louder.
"Taric, wake up! I need your help!" The Piltovian shouted, far from patient. From what he gathered, Taric was not fond of waking up particularly early. He could hear a few choice complaints about him and shuffling feet on the other side of the door. Shortly after, the lock clicked and the door swung open slowly, revealing a less than pleased Taric, his eyelids heavy, a tangled mess of brown hair where the Prodigy was so used to seeing perfectly groomed locks. "Good morning, sunshine." Ezreal laughed.
"What did you want?" The Knight mumbled a question. He yawned, turning his head slightly so he could catch a glimpse of himself in a mirror. "I look horrendous." He muttered to himself. He was cloaked in his bed clothes; for some reason, Ezreal nearly believed the man slept in his armor.
"Well, is there anything you can do for stiff muscles?" Ezreal questioned quickly. "Also, I think I want to go another round or two with you before I fight Draven." Taric stepped back into his room, gesturing for the Prodigy to follow him. The two were in the lounging section of the Gem Knight's living space. Taric crossed the room to a door, one leading to his bed chamber.
"I would need to dress myself if you want to practice." He stated, his voice fairly quiet. He stepped into his bedroom, the Prodigy took a seat, respecting his friend's privacy. Glancing around, he noticed the room was decorated with enchanting colors, and the same gems that Taric was famous for. He couldn't help but wonder how the Knight acquired them, perhaps he had some otherworldly technique for creating them. A moment later, the Gem Knight emerged from his room, walked over to the Prodigy and placed a small crystal in his hand.
"Place that wherever you feel pain and it should heal you." He instructed before returning to his room.
"I don't know how to use gems." Ezreal called after him.
"You do not need to." Taric shouted back at him, "That one is intended for self use. It is not as strong as being healed by somebody trained in gem magic, but it will heal minor wounds." The Piltovian hummed in thought, slipping his jacket off quickly. He placed the crystalline formation against his exposed arm, watching with curiosity as it glowed faintly, the pain in his arm numbing and fading.
"Neat." He remarked, moving the crystal to his other arm. The Piltovian moved the crystal around to each part of his body that was troubling him, until he felt fully refreshed.
"Did it work?" The Gem Knight questioned as he returned, clad in his iconic blue armor. Ezreal nodded his response.
"Yeah. Your gems are really convenient, you know that?" He complimented, as he held out the crystal to its owner.
"Thank you." Taric said with a modest tone, "It is a magic that never should have been forgotten." He stated, nearly saddened.
"Well, from what I've seen you do, I'd have to agree." Ezreal smiled with warmth. Taric nearly sighed; the Piltovian hardly realized the strength his words held, how his flattery reassured him.
"That is very kind of you to say." He returned the smile, "However, standing around talking about forgotten practices is not going to prepare you for your battle tonight, is it?" He questioned, nudging the Prodigy back to focus.
"Yeah, you're right." Ezreal agreed, "We'll get something to eat, then to the practice arena again?" He suggested, pulling his jacket back on.
"I have no objection to that plan." The brunette agreed. The two promptly made their way to their destination; the Institute's dining hall. They discussed simple matters over their meal, the Gem Knight having to suppress the need he felt to wipe the crumbs off of the Prodigy's face, unsure of how Ezreal could make such a mess of a single meal.
"So what can I really do if she keeps killing them accidentally?" Ezreal questioned with a mouth full of food, "I mean, I can't get mad at her because she's really not trying to, and it's good that they're dead, but really, I need the money more than she does. What do you even say in that situation without risking sounding rude?" He questioned one of his many issues about battling in the League. "Summoners can be really inconsiderate of each other sometimes." He shrugged to himself.
"Some of them can be pointlessly cruel. It is saddening." The Gem Knight agreed, shaking his head with shame. "I do not understand how belittling another Summoner is supposed to improve their performance." He admitted.
"I just don't really know what to think of them." Ezreal sighed, "Honestly, I'm kinda glad Draven said 'no Summoners', I never know what to expect when I'm being controlled by one of them." He had to admit, the man had a fair idea. He dropped his fork loudly on his empty plate, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket, causing the brunette to frown.
"Are you ready to leave?" Taric questioned, not impressed by the blonde's lack of table manners. His own people's customs were different from those on Runeterra, although strangely not by much; he strongly doubted making such a mess of oneself was considered polite at meals.
"Yeah, sure." Ezreal mumbled, swallowing the last of his food. "Do you think we could go over footwork a bit more?" He requested, standing up, not noticing as he nearly knocked his chair over as he stood.
"Whatever you think will be most helpful to you." Taric bowed his head slightly, beginning to lead the Prodigy to the Institute's training grounds, leaving the room to silence. Ezreal had much to be looked over, much to practice before he could fight Draven, he had realized it during his sleepless night. He refused himself the luxury of nervousness; self-doubt would do nothing but hinder his performance. He would fight, even if he knew he was pathetically unprepared, but never would he allow the Noxian the pleasure of seeing him weak. He followed after the Gem Knight to the training arena.
I will be back with an update at some point in time, and I apologize for the lack of action. Let me know what you think of it? Am I still welcomed to the forums?
I may have made many errors with syntax and grammar, and I apologize for that, I am not 100% sure how to use some features of the English language.
Me gusta. Read this on FF first actually. Then found it here. Just thought I'd leave a comment and tell you to hurry up with some more. Or I will stalk you and breathe down your neck like a super creep until you write moar! You readers need moar, and some cakes.
Huh. This interests me quite a bit actually. It's not so much the planned pairing that appeals to me, but the quality of your writing, which is well above the standards most works of fanfiction set for themselves. So go ahead and post more, because I'll definitely be reading it.
""And all of this because he tried to be half the narcissist you are." Darius joked, knowing Draven hardly minded being called anything along the lines of a narcissist. Self-obsessed, egomaniac, conceited; they were all names he wore proudly, and he figured he deserved to."
At the end it should be too not to.
Sorry about being a grammar Nazi, its really good.
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