The bridge between champion and wielder is shorter for some.
Norman wakes up to the chimes of the meeps with a low hum, rousing to their familiar song before reaching over to tap them to be quiet. One gives an indignant ring as he rolls out of his matchbox bed and off the nightstand, onto the carpet.
“What am I going to do with you,” Norman sighs fondly and picks up the wiggling meep and places him back into the makeshift apartment complex he has for his meeps; one for each year since Bard connected to him.
Flopsy, Mopsy, Snuffles, Kari, Noory, Moopy. His little lights when he didn’t want to go outside or when he was angry for reasons he couldn’t understand. He cradles them all gingerly, coaxing them into his little transport basket, moving them to the kitchen where he can make breakfast for them. For aliens, they seem to enjoy pancakes most and anything with starch. From his science classes he suspects they enjoy sugar and ethanol but it’s not as if he has a way to ask. He mixes the premade flour and batter, smiling as his meeps chime together excitedly.
He’ll never get tired of mornings like this.
His meeps venture with him, perching in his bike basket as he goes to work. Leaving them at home isn’t an option so to the office they come and to the office they explore, each little nook and cranny a grand adventure for his meeps.
And all too often these days, he has to wrestle them back from his teammates.
“Noory isn’t your pet,” he mutters defensively as he takes a cheerfully chiming Noory out of Matyas’ hands and into his own.
“But they’re so cute Kaiser,” Matyas pouts and looks at him with puppy eyes, “can’t you let me keep them for one night? It’d be like a sleepover!”
“Noory can’t be away from his chorus,” he nods at the other five meeps, “and I really can’t sleep without them all with me.”
“Then I can sleep over with you!”
“...no,” Norman cradles Noory who chimes comfortingly, “sorry.” He wouldn’t mind it in a month or so but he is still getting used to everything new. Everything in his safe place needs to be harmonious.
“Okeeey,” Matyas seems to take the hint and rushes off to bother Marek, “let me play with your ball!”
“NO.” Marek’s ball pulsates in a warm blue-gold before drifting over to Matyas. Like all Orianna wielders, it acts like a semi-sentient entity and it’s far more amused with Matyas antics than Marek himself is, or lets on. Only Andrei can tell consistently whether it’s amused by Matyas or by its trolling of its wielder.
“Aaaw you do like me though don’t you ball?” Matyas pats it and giggles as it swirls around him happily. Marek crosses his arms and whines, “I can’t believe you’ve subverted my ball from me.”
“They just like me more,” Matyas sticks his tongue out and dodges Marek’s lunge at him with a quick shift backward.
At least it’s Ezreal’s dash and not Kai’sa invisibility and dash, Norman thinks to himself as Marek chases Matyas. Otherwise the now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t shenanigans would be impossible.
