#masteredshadows

dork

meta, meta, meta. | @masteredshadows​

oh, this one is good. a hard one to do, given all it entails explaining, but good!

the relationship between the blood brothers has never been a particularly difficult one, albeit dysfunctional since its inception; it is what is expected when they both grew up as they did, on the streets and fending for themselves since early youth. hardships made them close-knit and darius a protective older brother, having to assume the role of the caretaker when he himself was but a child thanks to their status as orphans. in a sense, it made it easier for darius to survive it, given that he pushed him twice as hard so he could make it and assure his brother, too, made it — answering simply the question whether he loves or not his brother, as he did all he did in name of it, and to also protect the only family he ever truly knew as he barely remembers his parents as it is.

as cyrus came to their town and handpicked them as prospect soldiers, they still remained close. this was foreign territory and there was still the need, for the future hand, to keep close to what he knew: his younger brother. their relationship remained mostly untouched for a few years longer, until it became clear darius was more clean-cut for the military life and draven had needs that did not fit the that life. it was then that they became distancing themselves from one another, even darius still remained respectful and caring about his brother, in his own reserved way. 

their paths diverging and remaining somewhat divergent for the rest of their lives, they don’t see one another much anymore. darius’ duty as the hand and now the might of noxus had him too busy and draven’s life as the glorious executioner keeps him distracted from the concept of family. still, now and then, they still see one another for the sake of it, if schedule allows to, but that happens every other few months at times. it is worth noting draven might be one of the few people that knows of all of darius’ past and its secrets, keeping it as such, and that alone, to the older of the two, strenghtens their bond.

there’s no bad blood between them, not even after swain took preference to darius in the arrangement of the trifarix. turns out draven doesn’t quite care about politics enough to forfeit their long-standing bond for it, even as they remain mostly partially estranged. oh, and it remains unwise to talk ill of either in one another’s presence; while darius won’t harm anyone for the insult to keep to the veneer of social contract, the person doing so will likely fall off his favor and if they keep on repeating the insult, well. 

   The way Jayce emphasises the word charged is enough to make Zed glance up from the untouched platter of food between them and stare at him.

   It is hard to assume Jayce could be referring to anything but the potent spirituality, the magic that runs through Ionia’s very soul, but that a random Piltovan would be sensitive to it…

   …Interesting. It isn’t the first time Zed has seen such a reaction: There is a hum and a vibrancy to the air in Ionia that he has yet to feel elsewhere, an electricity that touches even the least magical of people, but most newcomers have a tendency to confuse it with the excitement of visiting an unfamiliar place. Even those precious few with a latent connection to magic rarely do more than offer a passing comment, but Jayce—

   —Well, one need only look at him to see how much it seems to affect him. Rather than shooting out whatever witty comment first comes to mind, or allowing a scientist’s natural want to understand to consume him, Jayce has been exceptionally silent. He sits, an odd expression on his face, arms folded together, seemingly ignoring the excellent meal before him.

   Zed is proud of his cooks. It seems a shame for the food to go to waste.

   “Yes,” he replies, but offers no further elaboration. Instead, he places his fingertips on the side of the wooden platter and pushes it towards Jayce. “Eat. It will be easier to adjust on a full stomach.”

   Perhaps Zed should have allowed Jayce to stay somewhere with more positive energy than his temple. If he is this sensitive, the shadows’ overwhelming darkness cannot be a pleasant feeling.

   …He will get used to it. Besides, Zed had no way of knowing a random Piltovan scientist might be capable of sensing magic. Jayce will learn to manage, and soon enough, he will be safe and sound amongst his technology again.

piltover has not taught him how to deal with this gift. he’s been taught how to use and abuse of his genius for years, but the latent ability he has to sense energies, even those of magic nature, had never been touched by those who could help. so when pulled away from the comfort of his steel city into the bosom of ionia, the golden boy of the giopara couldn’t help but feel the stark difference to be nearly suffocating. it shows in his countenance as much as it does in his body language.

it’s constricted, less debonair. he notices, he knows the ninja before him does, too.

it’s what bothers him.

instead of focusing on how his skin feels as if electrified by the touch of air alone, he looks down to the meal before them before looking up to zed again. the mask is still in place; it doesn’t surprise him as much as it vaguely frustrates him, how direly committed to this the other man is. he’s curious by nature and the mask, while in itself an imposing article, is an impediment to both his satisfaction as a questioning creature and to his people reading skills. he feels a little blinded, socially speaking, and he hates it, especially with his added ailment. he doesn’t comment on it for the sake of his own pride, of course, but the feeling lingers.

something about his etiquette teachings also finds it appalling that he’s made to  eat alone. it’s a little condescending, even, but coming from the master of shadows, he’s not surprised.

if he really thinks about their arrangements, there’s nothing surprising about it.

“--it’s the. energy. the place has.” his speech is as stifled as he feels and it’s vile a man of his eloquence should be reduced to this. he hopes he adjusts soon enough so they can come to their little showdown. he didn’t bring the hammercannon so far for no reason, after all. despite feeling spited, he still obeys zed and starts eating. after the first bite is gone, he continues. for once, his eyes don’t meet the ones behind the mask.

dang, didn’t realise that wuju masters were so strong one would think more would have survived, yknow

“. . .”

Perhaps it was naive of her, but Sona couldn’t see much reason to hate the man the way some rumors had whispered she should. He was accommodating, thoughtful, respectful, and quite gracious and generous. Even considerate! That poor man, Kayn, could do to learn more from his master. Though she still suspected the demon possessing him had more to do with bad behavior than anything...

What a strange time it’d been.

Sona poked each item with the tips of her long nails, letting them make their various sounds as delicately as possible. The bell was loveliest, of course, but she could tell the quality of the other items simply by their sounds. How solid they were, or how brittle, or delicate, or interrupted by cracks.

The jade struck her as particularly interesting, as she hadn’t seen much of it since coming to Demacia. Everything was so white and gold and gilded here. Seeing the delicate, slight translucence of the stone was as strangely comforting as it was beautiful. Though there was one person who regularly carried jade around...

Zed is doubtful.

     He stares intently at his food, eyes fixated upon the seasoned rice and grilled vegetables. The deadpan expression upon his face betrays no emotion.

     “Something else, indee—” 

     A fit of coughing overcomes his words, and he presses a napkin against his mouth.

    “Perhaps you should take a winterly retreat into Kaijn,” Jhin suggests at the flutter of his lips. “I’m sure such a thing would show why I have such an... antipathy on the subject.”

    He’s smiling despite the words, head hitting somewhere between forty-five and ninety degrees when he hears the rest of what Zed has to say, and for a moment a brow is quirked before it falls and breaks away into a toothy grin.

    “My.”

    Did my cloak make you feel inadequate, Jhin wonders, but it dies in his throat.

    “Thank you,” he says instead, sitting up and eventually standing to join Zed at the window. “Awfully considerate of you.”

     Maybe it wasn’t the cloak and more the garden tour. He wrings his hands. Or... possibly... simple generosity? Jhin spots a kneeling willow outside.

     Well. That one he’s come to doubt less and less as every year has gone, but it nevertheless feels foreign to consider of a man once convinced the only relationship to have with Khada Jhin being the immediacy to his grave site. Then again... how many times has that come up, too?

     He harrumphs, pushing past his thoughts for now. Instead, he imagines a pomegranate sapling, almost certain Zed might find the taste.