#unmatchedfury

// Send me “How’d you get this?” For my muses reaction to yours tracing one of their scars and asking how they got it. //

Talon flinched back, quickly slapping the Half-Dragon’s hand away from his face.  It seemed that he had gotten too comfortable and let his guard down.  It was strange though…  The Demacian seemed to be fueled by idle curiosity, not hostility.  Perhaps he could give her the honor of being humored despite their their loyalties to completely different countries.

Joke Song Aight for realsies now 

“It’s dangerous to be out here alone, my dear.” Vlad leaned his shoulder against the blacked wall. Years of industrial smog had stained the bricks a sickening obsidian. Rain had washed negligible amounts of dirt away from the walls; resulting in streams of grey and brown to interweave along the charcoal surface.

He pushed himself away from the wall and took a few steps forward; hands shoved deep into his pockets, a devilish smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. 

“Shyvana,” A forced gentleness apparent in his tone, “You’re lucky it was I that found you.” He hissed, a flicker of viridian luminosity crossed his irises - momentarily illuminating his face in the darkness of night. “Other Noxians wouldn’t be so..”

He paused, his mouth curling into a devious smirk. “Accommodating.” 

Vlad’s gaze flickered over his shoulder for a moment. Though Vlad no longer lived in Noxus, he had to be careful if other Noxians saw him conversing with a recognizable Demacian. Regardless of his political affiliation; it drew unwanted attention for anyone in Noxus to speak with someone from Demacia.

“Please,” He sneered, “Come this way, I wouldn’t want you to get targeted by.. someone less hospitable.”

(( Another in-character response here … happy to have a chance to explore Swain’s thoughts on Shyvana! ))

———-

The reality of being two halves, never whole.

He’s known it for decades; felt it in the deepest reaches of his being, where his soul lies tangled with hers. It’s not unpleasant. Not now, after so much time. Still, it’s not all he’s known.

Once, he was his own being. Once, he was one.

Shyvana is a twist of two. To many, she represents an unholy union.

He snorts then, amused at his own thoughts.

Unholy. “How Demacian,” he growls, chuckling to himself.

Still, in the silence of his study, something twists at his heart.

He is war-worn, battle hardened; a puzzling skeptic of all sentient life. Nearly impossible to impress by all accounts, Swain is hard-hearted. But a fragment of his stony heart feels for the half-born, surprising him.

He closes his eyes.

To be part of a world that despises your very existence; to be recruited by those who would spit venom behind your back …

He scoffs.

The hypocrisy runs bitter, and deep.

———-