#generaldarius

Casinos were such tricky things. In the Bad Old Days, they and their owners were a law unto themselves, and it had been a pleasure to shut them all down, one after the other. But gambling was as inherent to human nature as it was to Piltovian culture, and shutting down the crime consortiums had done nothing to shut down people’s need for a good game of chance.

It had taken months of discussion in Parliament, and even longer as Piltover was attacked, for the idea to be considered. And now, here it was, four years after it’s opening, Piltover’s most luxurious hotspot for entertainment, a lure for diplomats and nobility the world over... and the only casino in the city.

The Grand.

Caitlyn idly watches the crowds. Everyone took pains to dress up coming here, from the Dusties in their Sunday Best, to the Toffs in pearls and satin, to the visiting knights in shining armour and the scoundrels with buckles freshly-polished. There was a wedding party, making their way to the picturesque gardens, there was a party celebrating a youth’s numerical manhood in one of the ground-floor bars. There were people enjoying the tables, the electronic games, the live music, the fine restaurants and drinking halls, and plenty more just agog at passing celebrities and folk from far-off lands.

It is the only reason, she thinks, that she can tolerate the idea of a casino in Piltover, is that it has been elevated... and regulated. There were measures in place to prevent people bankrupting themselves, and money went back to the city, to public works and maintenance, instead of into the pocket of a greedy few. The Grand was an art form, a venue, and gambling was not its core. Indeed, here she sits now, sipping on a light apple cider, waiting for her guest. A guest that had been offered a room at The Grand, in order to impress with the level of sophistication and comfort that only the world’s greatest nation could display.

She was early. She didn’t mind. It was lovely to be here, to consider how even the ugliest part of Piltover’s past could be fixed, could be changed, could be made into something better. She did not feel like it was a scar on the nation, or a blight on her own reputation. After all, she had helped Parliament write many of the regulations herself.

And speaking of scars...

Send me “Don’t chase the rabbit” and your muse will be shown a random memory from my muse’s past.

“Maata,” complained a small, spotted cub that seemed to be made up of more baby pudge than childhood muscle thanks to his fur, “why do I need to learn to weave baskets? I’m going to be a warrior! This is not what warriors do!”

“Your father weaves baskets and is a warrior,” was Maata’s measured, even response in her husky voice. She slid long blades of grass around and through one another quickly, creating a basic shape without any real thought thanks to long practice. “Knowing how to do this will make you self-sufficient. You won’t have to depend on anyone if you know how to do enough to take care of yourself.”

The way Rengar’s small face screwed up showed his doubt but he continued to weave the blades of grass as he’d been instructed. Maata wasn’t lying. He had seen Tāne making baskets more than once. 

                He was so tall! Could teenagers really be that tall? Apparently so! 

                Soraka was visibly startled when she knocked into him, her thoughts having wandered from her, thus her attention not where it should be. There was so much to worry about, how could she always keep her mind present? There were her exams coming up, her teammates, what to cook for dinner, returning her books to the library... Her thoughts were wondering again already. 

                The later bullet on her list of concerns was what she was intending to do, hence why she currently held two books up in front of her, hiding the lower half of her face ( also due to her slight shock ). He was certainly intimidating, too... 

                 “I’m sorry!” she says quickly, bowing her head forward briefly. Soraka lowers the books she’s holding, wrapping her arms around them and pressing them to her chest, though the threads of nervousness beginning to weave into her conscious remained ( she can feel Shisa rustle in her backpack, likely sensing her anxiety— hopefully the taller boy doesn’t notice... ). 

If I had to list out a few..

ask-a-trustworthy-weather-woman

asksonabuvelle

ask-evelynn

askwinterorianna

generaldarius

There were a few others but they’re unfortunately deactivated. ;_;

[ I PREPARED AN ANSWER FOR THIS IN CASE I GOT IT.

1) Ginger Hell. GINGER HELL. My obsession as of late. I have a wonderful partner to write it with and it’s very enjoyable for me mostly because I haven’t ever really written/explored a relationship quite like Mishka and Val’s before. I adore Mishka and I love the struggles (even if it makes me cRY AND SCREAM). I can only hope that I am doing my part as good mouse waifu to make it as enjoyable for everyone else.

2) Case Study. Holy christ, man, I’ve cried over Case Study so many times (COUGHS AT RESISTANCE AU) because of ask-sheriff-caitlyn and progenitorviktor. They execute it wonderfully and it’s just so good all around. Painful and thought provoking, I love it very much.

3) Tea for Two. Or T42. Tied with Case Study to be honest. not-by-a-longshot and ladyofarcen, holy shit. Number one crew member right here, these two always bombard me with T42 goodness and it makes me sob and feel really inspired. Obviously if Case Study is great, this is just as great.

4) Darriv. Darrivdarrivdarrivdarriv. This is your fault. Do I need to go into detail? Ever since I joined the community and started following you I was exposed to it and back then I’d head to your directory and look at everything. I love it, it’s hella good.