The yordle struggled with the cup for a few minutes. It was delicate, unlike anything he’d ever handled, anyway. Form over function had never been his style, but even he could admire the intricate patterns etched onto the cup. After a few moments of fiddling with the cup in his smaller, pawed hands, he finally managed to sip. His lack of refinement became evident, but he wasn’t needlessly loud. Not right now.
And, upon her response, Kled gave an appreciative hum, a hand reached up to wipe his lips. The napkins went on ignored.
“You’re a clever one, ain’tcha?” He’d seen strategists and soldiers with a less scrutinizing gaze than her. But Kled didn’t mind, the way he saw it; he had nothing to hide.
He didn’t grimace at the taste of this leaf water, it was soothing; compared to his usual drinks.
Kled set down the cup back on the table (on its proper dish too), careful not to break the delicate cup. The sound made Skaarl stop for a single moment, but she resumed scarfing down the treats-- cooing in content.
He snorted, his one good eye glanced around. Around him he saw the fruits of people different from him. Beautiful inventions crafted by people who valued their achievements, their stations in life more than anything. “Don’t fear death. ” Small hands reached over and snatched a stray treat for himself.
He was too stubborn to die. But he remembered true fear as he saw the machines approaching Noxus-- and it was then he realized what true death was.
“I’m guessin’ the death of an ideal. When you work hard for something, everyone’s sacrificed everythin’, what they believe in-- even their lives. Losin’ that scares me a bit, not gonna lie.”
