felixandthenightwatch replied to your post:"Finally. A week’s worth of digging around Noxian...
"What did you find? Is it something I could help with?"
Currelis quickly closed the document. He almost seemed to have jumped at the sound of Felix walking in his office. "Felix." He paused and quickly recuperated himself. "Tell me. How long ago was the war between Noxus and Ionia?" The spymaster's 'eye' flickered as it seemed to pan about as if it itself was in thought.
"Blitzcrank? I am a friend, an acolyte of your paternal unit - My information should be filed under 'Felix Reid' and not Felix Lester. Might I request..? Hmm. Your, uhh, your matchmaking services." He sounded slightly embarrassed almost.
"A FRIEND OF THE FATHER UNIT? I UNDERSTAND. YOU HAVE VENTURED A DISTANCE TO COME OUT TO BILGEWATER FOR SUCH AN EVENT. NOW, ALLOW ME TO CALCULATE YOUR MATCHES."
Blitzcrank spun his head around, this time multiple times as he observed the area while he proceeded with his Matchmaking process. A variable here, an integer there. Pull up a news article, pull up Felix’s personal data. Convert to numbers, assign, plug into the formula.
"BEEP."
It was finished up. The calculations were sensible with the data he was given.
"YOUR MATCHES ARE READY. IT IS A CLOSE TIE BETWEEN TWO FIGURES IN YOUR INTERACTIONS, AS BOTH THE BEING FINA, AND VINA, HAVE EQUALLY A 52% COMPATIBILITY RATE. FOR FURTHERING SUCH RELATIONSHIPS, I ADVISE A SHARED MEAL WITH EITHER, OR PERHAPS YOU WISH TO PURSUE BOTH? WHAT YOU WILL DO NOW, IS UP TO YOU. THANK YOU FOR VISITING THE FLESHLING COMPATIBILITY SERVICE LIVE IN BILGEWATER. PLEASE FEEL FREE TO PARTAKE IN THE BEVERAGES TO MY LEFT AND RIGHT.”
"The fact you feel you can preach to me about morals and respect disgusts me more than I can express. How can a man, adequate at best in both intelligence and appearance, proudly speak out against his obvious superiors? The fact you had to resort to physical violence when speaking to me just proves it; you are a brute, an idiot and a thug."
"Night Cipher.. Do you have time for a short conversation? I have questions regarding an acquaintance of yours, and my possible contribution to Piltover's safety. You don't have to answer any question of mine, but I would prefer it if I spoke to someone I know by name if not in person."
"Your name was…Felix, was it not? I think we’ve spoken briefly before, but that’s no matter. I have time for a conversation, and especially for any questions or concerns for Piltover’s safety. Please, have a seat." Night instructed, pointing to one of the chairs in front of his desk. His Piltover office still needed some cleaning up, but it was far better than it had been two days ago.
Morning dawned in Piltover, warming the airship cabin and letting the new tendrils of the early hours lighten the hues of her abode. Quiescence remained whole and complete save for the periodic, settling wood. The gentle rock of the cabin barely registered as the woman rose effortlessly to begin another day in existence.
Yet, something stopped her short from dressing herself fully, a gleam beneath her heavy mantle upon the wall. The memory from days past welled within her. She had purchased a new mirror to replace the last one lost in her latest episode. A wandering eye traced across the knuckles of her battered hand where glass had sunk into flesh.
An impulse drove her to break her morning's routine, lifting the mantle from the wall and mirror before clothed in her usual attire. A soft hiss escaped her lips as she looked into a pair of doubtful aurate eyes. The woman's left hand rose to trace the reflection as it reached towards her in kind. Her brow knit in soft worry as the air filled with honeyed words.
"Who exactly are you..." Part inquiry and melancholy rhetoric, she whispered as her own golden pools drank in the winding scars that crawled across her flesh. Up through the crown of her hair, and down further. The flames left their mark upon her collar, choking her as it crawled over her heart south to bring her to her knees.
She moved her hand from the cold glass towards her own chest, and the mirrored woman did the same. Both stopped short of contact, trepidation evident in their stares. What made her anxious, the texture of warped skin if it could be called thus, what she had lost in gaining the scar, or the notion that it belonged to her?
"You shouldn't be afraid, that was in the past. You're stronger now..." Her brow deepened its furrows, pulling into grim determination before finally letting go. Was she stronger? Was that truth or more lies?
"Quit staring; it won't change anything. Do you even know who you are anymore? What is your name!" She flinched, nearly turning away from the amaranth lips that spoke. Another sigh filled the cabin.
"Are you Serafina Summers?" Sera spread her arms in a gesture of expectation. The words rich and full with the tongue of her home. The consonants rolled, and the vowels stretched.
"Or..." The voice shifted, slick and cool with a practiced beat like tempered steel. "Are you Fina Reid? The Seraph?" The reflection's arms crossed firmly beneath her chest.
Each word was like mercury, a muffled poison, that roused a growl from within her. Defiance filled Sera's features, and her shoulders raised. Her resistance rushed to force the lingering memory of the saccharine voice from her thoughts.
"No. I was born Serafina Summers, and that is who I'll continue ta be until the day I last draw breath. And you?" She gestured towards the angered woman with a voice like fire. "You are, Fina Reid. I created ya to be my weapon. Don't forget who you are."
The Seraph's disdain peered back at her from the glossy surface with logic cold and sharp as glass. Had she forgotten who she was? Had she ever known in the first place? Images flashed by and her father's voice called to her.
"Baby Angel..."
What did those words mean anymore? Their denotations were swept into their winding connotations encompassing emotions and inflections she could not consolidate into a coherent thought. She wasn't a child but a women with the name of an angel. What did that name mean to her? How would she wear it? How had she worn it?
Threats of murder and malcontent, ever mounting and unresolved. Her eyes broke from the scornful Seraph's gaze eastwards towards Zaun across the bay. In a fit, the single word she deemed most apt, what had she done? Burned ties with reckless abandon, warranted or otherwise. Who was acting then? Was that who she really was, just some addled beast wearing civility like a mask?
"Who are you!? Serafina? Fina? Who..." Breath escaped her, depriving the flame within her of vital fuel. Strength left her as her knees gave way to their old scars. Sera drew her knees closer, to conceal the ugly truth from peering back at her. A whine, soft and suffused with frustration, shook her throat as she glanced skyward.
"Who... Just... who? I'm talking to a mirror... So why does it feel like I'm not talking to myself..."
Felix leaned back in his chair as he finished the article before him. The headline had caught his eye, and temporarily distracted him from both work and thoughts. "As expected." He was happy for them, but there was also quiet jealousy. Who were they, to be younger than him, and to have found a relationship together? It seemed hardly fair, but that was merely luck. Felix made a point to write a small letter of congratulations, formal and brief.
Within her hands was a parchment, not unlike the rest of the pile she had been sorting through all evening since the article was made public. Still, each one seemed to have a new smile sealed within that spread to her upon opening it. Simple words, brief congratulations, even from strangers— she couldn’t have imagined such an uproariously celebratory response. With a happy sigh, she looked over the piles of envelopes and scrolls.
