Thanks to the lovely @azulity for this commission of Renzus and Valentina!
It was based on an RP where Renzus and Valentina attend a “Who’s Who” social event in a Zaunite nightclub, meeting influential chem-barons, crime lords and other movers and shakers, involving lots of dancing, whispered threats, and knives in the dark. Just another night in Zaun :)
The Grand General stood on the balcony of a mansion, looking below to the brightly lit garden full of important diplomats, nobility and rich merchants. Taking a sip from a crystal glass, he tasted the sparkling wine. Expensive was what he’d call it shortly. The man let his bronze colored eyes scan the crowd, making observations almost lazily. His gaze stopped at a radiant red head in an elegant dress. She had a certain influence to the crowd around her, an ability to draw smiles and attention, yet slip away comfortably. She made socializing into an art form. “Miss Rusalka” Swain muttered, taking another sip from his drink. “To rise to your position in life such as yours…” He rose his glass a tiny bit in a private toast, concealed from everyone. “I salute your ambition and strength”. Taking a lng sip from the glass, Swain left the balcony. He’d be departing from the city before the night was done. But getting a first hand read of the matron of the Royal Rose, the Master Tactician felt he’d gotten something worth it from this social event.
Four names. Marry, kiss, cuddle and push away. [ From Here ]
Oof okay hold up.
Marry: Swain. For the power, of course. He gives ZERO FUCKS about what anyone would say or how Swain may look. If the GRAND GENERAL OF NOXUS literally wants to marry Draven? He’s in it for the power, and you BET he’s gonna get an ego boost to go with it: something nobody ever thought POSSIBLE.
Kiss: Garen. Yeah, just ‘cause he’d LOVE to just see the look on everyone’s face when his momentary arm candy is GAREN of all people. Like that’s Demacia’s MIGHT, and Draven DARED to be so bold despite being an in/famous Noxian?? Fuck yeah he dared and he regrets NONE OF IT.
Cuddle: Darius, platonically of course. They’ve done it before as kids, relying on each others’ company for comfort and/or to help each other with their personal issues. They still do it from time to time, whether it be to help Darius come down from any PTSD episodes or to calm Draven from when he just breaks the fuck down ‘cause oops his ‘coping mechanism’ of a persona has stopped working and cannot reboot so he’s gonna shatter like glass for a bit.
Push Away: Talon. Honestly it kinda sucks, and I can see Draven and Talon getting along, but he’d probably get annoyed if Talon started getting TOO involved in his friendship with Cass. Draven sees Cass as a sibling and, really, Talon getting overbearing about anything regarding Cass would get on Draven’s nerves.
//May I ask what music player you use? I've been having trouble with mine and need to look for other ones to use ;~;
Hey! I completely forgot, by the way, to link my playlist in general this past weekend!!! So here’s that. Also, I use this website as my playlist host on my blog. I hope this helped.
“... but what if I want to afford it. You just... tell us we can’t afford it, like we don’t have the finances. We don’t know the price. We don’t ‘know’ what we can’t afford.
No Crow robes for Therysa this time; she didn’t want this particular act to be associated with them. If anything, this was more for the Rose than the Crows, but above all, it was mostly personal. While Valentina had some reservations about it, the Queen agreed that a message had to be clearly sent in this case; hurt one of the Rose’s flowers, and you will be bled by its thorns.
The man in question was a wealthy chem-baron by the name of Van Colt. Nothing much made him stand out among the dozens that warred for supremacy in Zaun’s depths, an ambitious soul who often postured with far more strength than he possessed. Therysa had found located his office with some effort, where Van Colt oversaw his syndicate’s money-laundering work. It had minimal guards, for the crime lord had gone through enough paranoid measures to ensure that nobody would associate it with him, although clearly he had not anticipated that he would anger not only the Royal Rose, but also the Crow hidden inside it.
As the young woman stepped through the doors of the building, her jacket still trailing dust from the outside, she thought on the companion that Van Colt had injured, perhaps beyond recovery. He’d backhanded her across the face with his ring hand, and the iron band had torn her right eye. Even with the doctors that Valentina could call upon, the escort likely would never see from that eye again. While the retribution that Therysa had planned was likely disproportionate in its severity, as Valentina had said, a message needed to be sent.
The offices itself were relatively empty at this point in time, save for a pair of bodyguards who stood at the entrance to Van Colt’s sanctum. When they saw Therysa, they exchanged looks of confusion; to their knowledge, Van Colt had not made a call for one of Valentina’s girls. Therysa never gave them time to second-guess themselves; a pair of throwing knives slipped into her hand from within her sleeve, and she ended them both with a well-aimed throw, sinking the two slivers of thin steel into their hearts. They collapsed without a sound, and she drew her favourite blade; a wicked knife made of vermilion-tinted steel, its blade curving forwards in a deadly reversed talon.
Shedding her jacket, revealing a simpler outfit of darkened, steel-threaded leathers, the Crow kicked open the doors to the office, revealing a startled Van Colt, a large man in imported furs, a still-smoking cigar held in thick lips. To his credit, he shook off his surprise to reach for a weapon concealed beneath his desk, but Therysa launched herself forwards in a blur of motion, crashing into him and sending them both to the floor.
The desperate scramble of close-fighting was never a clean affair, but it was in this frenetic chaos that Therysa found her killer’s tranquility. As Van Colt fought to get his gun in her face, she brought her elbow down into his nose, and the crunch of cartilage brought its own sickly satisfaction. Her crimson blade sank into his wrist while he flailed, forcing nerveless fingers to drop the weapon to the floor. Her legs locked around his waist in a parody of lovemaking, for despite his greater size Therysa knew that leverage mattered so much more than strength in moments like these. She ripped her blade free with a flourish, arterial blood spraying them both in darkened red, prompting a scream of unmitigated pain from the chem-baron.
It was swiftly silenced, however, when Therysa jammed her forearm under his chin and pinned his throat. As his eyes bulged from the pain and lack of air, she stared into them with emerald ones that showed only cold, focused rage.
“You took my friend’s eye.” She hissed, reversing the grip on her knife and raising it high above her head. “Before you die, you’re going to know how that feels.”
A few days later, Therysa slipped into Valentina’s office, a privilege afforded to her unique station. The Queen was out, as it was common for her in her work, but when she returned, she would find a gift laid upon her desk; a human eye, preserved in clear chemical fluids, contained within a small glass container, the gash where a blade had impaled it perfectly captured for the rest of time.