Slash order has been reversed in ff.net description. Unfortunately, I cannot edit my title here.
This is a fanfic. It's not lewd and probably will never be. Also on ff.net, on my account "megicci"
[CENTER]Silent, But Not Still
Ahri had walked these fields many times. It'd been a century – perhaps more than one – since her birth here. The full humans whom she so envied cultivated the once-devastated land. The sight before her – rolling hills, each with a tilled field and terraced with rice paddies – gave her a sense of nostalgia, a sense of pride, and a feeling of regret. The beings to whom she owed her continuing life, to whom she owed her dream's near fulfillment – she had taken their lives without recompense. A moment of bliss followed by a moment of horror is not bliss at all, decidedly.
So many humans' life forces had she been made drunk off. So many humans who'd been drunk with desire for the nine-tailed fox. She loved humans – why else would she become one? But to simply give her to them in a carnal manner, and nothing more, nothing less for only an instant before taking the humans' futures full of infinite potential was something... dreadful. She did not enjoy the activity, or revel in it, like all those whom she had lured seemed to assume.
This lifestyle only allowed Ahri loneliness. Day after day of wandering from village to village had jaded her. After all, her techniques often involved her incorporating herself into the villages she came across. This meant that any revisits within two generations would have her discovered. So far, she was only a myth.
She didn't exist. Just a myth. None of those who had the chance to witness the throes of a more physical passion were alive to tell of her. More importantly, none of the people she had charmed actually loved her.
In short, Ahri was lonely. She could not afford to befriend or love a human, and it seemed that no other creatures of her kind existed – she had caught wind of a few (for example, a crow-man with a long red nose, and some other sort of crow abomination with a third leg), but never had she come across another. So when she came across a transcendent feline – close relative to her vulpine nature – taking a nap on an abandoned hermit's hut's roof, she couldn't resist to urge to wake the feline.
The feline – nekomata – was a female, the same as Ahri. As such, Ahri was elated – here was someone she could truly share a bond with, one that wasn't clouded by lust. Most likely. The sleeping figure Ahri looked upon breathed lightly, but deeply. These breaths were delicate but unreserved, almost like a child's. She had two cat tails, but seeing as she was sleeping, they lay prone on the floor much as she did. The nekomata's clothing was worn and ragged and made of unknown cloth, seemingly stolen off some random villager. Her armpits were exposed, and Ahri... kind of wanted to tickle them.
So she did.
The ensuing giggles – at a calming mid pitch – surprised Ahri. The nekomata did not move at all, but laughter still came from her lips. It was amazing.
But, alas, it didn't last; the transcendent feline sprung awake and glared at Ahri. The gumiho almost surmised that the nekomata would yowl or claw at her, but these thoughts were interrupted by the newly-awakened feline's question.
“How come your boobs are so huge?”
Ahri woke. She frowned. Once again, no dreams. Not that she supposed foxes had dreams often, but what she wanted was to be human at last. Humans dreamed nearly every night, and for her to suddenly start moving away from her ideal was both baffling and frustrating.
More baffling and frustrating were the ridiculous expectations her summoners imposed upon her since she entered the League. “Oh, you're that ****” this, or “Hey, can you do a sexy dance for me?” that. She'd spewed the same joke so many times that simply uttering the first syllable made her want to puke. Seriously, they should have made laws about summoners sexually harassing their champions. But no one wanted to listen to the League's *****.
Following these musings, Ahri readied herself for the day's toils. Being a relatively popular champion (for many reasons, some of which she disliked) meant she would be getting several summonings a day. It didn't worry her, though; the hours were better than the average human's day job. As per usual, she spent quite a while readying her hair. It was a bit jarring at first to do her hair manually rather than with magic, but in order to further her endeavor to become human, she put effort at things with little return. Foolish of the humans, but human indeed. A morning shower wasn't necessary; Ionians tended to shower at night, and she had adopted the routine. As such, after brushing her (pearly white!) teeth and splashing her face a few times to wake up, she exited her League housing.
It was nice to have a place to stay, for once. But there was somewhere I could stay, thought Ahri. But then...
Regretting the past wouldn't do. She passed the Judgment for a reason. Ahri continued her graceful stride to somewhere she could pass the time until her next summoning. A creature of her origin didn't require food (though it was nice once in a while), and she didn't tend to socialize with other champions too often. When she did, they approached her or just happened to be around, and all she could manage was a weakly seductive tone or a meagerly humorous jab. It could be concluded, then, that she wouldn't be going to the library – too many bookish nerds lived in the Institute of War's champion accommodations. The cafeteria, bar, and cafe were always crowded with the more socially apt and obnoxious of the champions, and the artificial lake and forest were frequented by the various less humanoid champions of the League.
Ahri sighed. There was nothing to do in her room but sleep, and most of the places that facilitated a pastime were too filled with people and things that reminded her of wrongs and rights. Maybe she'd be fine going to the playground with Nunu, Amumu, and Annie. They seemed to be quiet and thoughtful, and at least got along. Plus, children wouldn't approach someone like her with any manner other than respect.
On the way to the playground and park, Ahri passed by the various musical buildings. These veritable amphitheaters were used by summoners and champions alike, considering the multitude of the musically inclined among these groups. She anxiously jogged past the Pentakill practice room. The lyrics didn't exactly appeal to her.
But amidst the guttural growls and overbearing symphonies laid out by Karthus's voice, Ahri heard the droning of guitar and bass intermingling. And amidst even those, she heard a much less muddled noise. It brought clarity to her mind. She immediately stood straight, with a posture akin to Fiora's, and adjusted her ears to listen to it more clearly.
The chords and harmonies seemed to speak of a past of helplessness, and of dear ones lost to one's own hand. They plucked and rang and jangled, but most importantly, Ahri felt as if she was being surrounded by the notes.
Each note spoke to her, sang to her, and assured her that things would be alright. Yet still, they were tinged with hopelessness and pain, and self-doubt. Ahri instinctively grabbed her right shoulder.
She had goosebumps.
She was sobbing.
“Probably... can't let those kids see me like this,” she muttered, suppressing multiple tear-induced hiccups. The playground was off for today, with its yordle-sized slides and bear-sized scratch posts. She supposed she would go home, before her thoughts redirected themselves to those unique, harp-like sounds that threatened to give Ahri a crash course on her past.
A summoner's voice intruded in Ahri's head. This one was familiar, though she couldn't place a name onto it – most summoners didn't bother giving her a name. She was an object.
“You're up for the Demacian-Ionian alliance sparring match.”
The voice was male. He didn't sound particularly threatening, but these types were usually the worst, personality-wise. Ahri sent a little telepathic message back at him.
“Contract accepted. Which Field of Justice will we be skirmishing on today?”
“The Twisted Treeline.”
The name made Ahri shudder a bit. She'd been on that field a few times before, each time provoking more violent reactions than the last. Most didn't notice. It usually manifested in a twitch of a tail, or impaired aim. She hid it well enough. Summoner's Rift was gorgeous and alive, and reminded her of an ancient Ionia. But the Twisted Treeline felt more like the Rune Wars. The humans' conflict, petty as it was, that made her who she was. Begrudgingly, she allowed herself to be channeled and summoned into the Field of Justice.
It was sticky, moist, rife with decay. Putrid smells filled the area, negating Ahri's pleasant scent. Strange vegetation grew everywhere it could, some of it in shapes I dare not describe. Twisted Treeline, indeed.
The Twisted Treeline had its own unspoken set of rules, Ahri had learned the first time. All three of the summoned champions on one side were to go down the bottom lane to duel the other three, and with the proper composition, would come out on top and gain an advantage after acing the enemy team. Knowing this, Ahri evaluated the best idea as being to unlock the Orb of Deception within her and her summoner's link. He agreed, and had her buy a Doran's Ring as well. Ahri considered wearing it on her left hand, but frowned and slipped it on her right instead.
Ahri's team, excluding herself, was Demacian. It wasn't a bad composition, either – Shyvana dealt quite a bit of damage early on, with unparalleled movement speed and resilience. Fiora could utilize Shyvana's ability to reduce enemy defense in order to deal a large amount of damage at once. They were both great artists. Not nearly as good as me, though, Ahri decided.
The summoners of all three echoed a few sentences back and forth as the champions made their way to the brush past their side's turrets. Excerpts include such popular phrases as “girl power yea!” and “gl hf,” as well as “Ahri, I'll tell you a secret!” The summoners also discussed, in brief, how they would burst the enemy during their duel.
“Summoner,” Ahri asked, “Who are the enemy champions?”
“Sec, let me bring up the documents,” he replied, pausing before continuing, “Master Yi, Irelia, and Sona.”
Well, then. As long as they got the early advantage and pushed, at least, they would do fine. Yi's main threat was after he got enough farm, leading to kills, but that was difficult on this Field. Particularly with Miss Fiora the Turret Demolisher and Shyvana Dive-Central. Irelia, if denied farm, wouldn't be too bad, either, if they bursted her properly.
But who was Sona? Ahri'd never sparred with someone with that name before.
By the time she reached the brush, she knew. Sona, Irelia, and Yi were waiting there in ambush. Ahri and her summoner had the prescience to launch her orb in there first, while Shyvana and co. rushed in. Fiora was relatively skilled with her parries, though, so Yi fell rather quickly. But Irelia wouldn't die, for some reason. Sona didn't seem to be doing anything, and Irelia normally wasn't this resilient, so why?
Ahri attuned her ears to something other than the clash of steel.
The melody of Sona's arias, chords, and harmonies played with the ferocity of battle invaded Ahri's ear canals.
Yes, Sona was the second member of Pentakill, and the player of the etwahl.
The gumiho's knees gave, and she fell to the floor crying.
Why does this music resonate so?