Bandle Cities Finest

Authors note: What would you call this, a disclaimer? warning? I apologize in advance for any grammatical, spelling, or any other such literal errors I am a diagnosed dyslexic and infamously illiterate, regardless- thanks for taking time out to read this, hope you like it ^^ The "old smokey" was clearly never meant to be a hospitable place for anyone. it was by no means a small tent- but with tables brimming over their capacity with uniforms, from nervous fresh faced privates to grizzled laughing veterans, illuminated by the smokey rationed lighting of the improvised canteen. but to any man and woman of the "Demacian Royal 17th Brigadier Infantry", it was home. be it a home that took many shapes and forms, annually torn to the ground and re-erected as their deployments were mobilized across the lands of Runeterra yet no matter what sand or silt the canteen found itself assembled over, the "Old smokey" remained. and as they say, home is where the heart is. And there wasn't one single military squad on the planet who had half the heart of the Bandle city finest. Strike Team Omega, "The Omega Squad" "A bunch of dirty knee high Yordles" scoffed private Olan over the lip of his cup. beginning the motion of his next swig, only to find his drink stopped by the sudden stern hand of his partner of the other side of the table. Lance Corporal Fossian "you watch your tongue, private. those "dirty knee high Yordles" are the reason half the men and woman are still alive in this regiment, you wont get far here without an air of respect to your brothers in arms, Demacian or not, and ESPECIALLY The Omega Squad." far side of the bar, this comment met an extremely amused scout, smirking to herself as she presented the next ration to the azurite hawk adorning her shoulder. "Fine. but I still don't fully understand why we have to share quarters with a bunch of knee high pixies... -who don't even drink anyway-" the pierced ear of a figure seated in the shade twitched and the recognition of what it just heard, the green glow of a personal tablet faded from the front of a masked face. the dial on a custom made plasma rifle twisted to the lower limits of its potential power output. The Private found himself again interrupted from his swig, not by a discerning hand, instead the abrupt explosion of the dirt underneath his chairs back legs. finding himself on his back, eyes facing directly into the glaring light above him, obscured by a hunched masked figure towering over him. a re-breathers fiery orange eyes glared into his very soul. "IS THAT SHORT JOKE" said the figure, its voice muffled by his mask. a terrified Olan stammered, his brain wracked for anything to retort in a situation like this. "WHAT'S BLACK-" actuators crackled down the fingers of a mechanized gauntlet "AND BLUE-" Olans eyes could only widen in shocked horror. The crowd around stared in sudden silent interest, a palette of mixed reactions. A red beret appeared in the light near the masked face. "That's enough Veig, I think he's got it now" The crowd went back to their drinks in disappointment. The mask silhouette was firmly motioned away, as the shape of a red beret met the light above, white hair underneath glowing in the angelic outline of the face looking down to him. He suddenly found his arm taken gently by a gloved hand, gripping its wrist expecting to need to throw his weight into getting back up, he found himself levitated upward by a smooth motion. Even as a trained soldier this strength baffled him, could it be one of the crown guard? He stumbled among the hole where his chair had stood for a moment, blinking and rubbing his eyes of the dust and glare that had stunted his vision, the gloved hand took him by the shoulder with a reassuring pat. "I'm sorry about old Vinegar Veigar, he's actually a sweetheart when you get to know him" said a soft voice. "Yeah after first impressions I somehow doub-" Suddenly shocked in realization, this wasn't a Crownguard at all, nor human. this ridiculous strength had come from none other than a warm smiled white haired, eye-patched Yordle. and a female at that. "I didn't see you stepping in Fossian" she bantered, the corporal the other side of the table shrugged and winked past his drink. "I can't help but notice your drink's joined your chair on the floor there, how about we get you a new one of each. it's least I can do for old sparkys introduction" Finding himself being beckoned over to the bar, they sat at the two free stools facing the wooden bench "Either way, name's Tristana, pleasure's all mine" Olan, began opening his mouth to respond when he found another hand on his shoulder, turning on his stool he came to face another short, long faced figure at the bar, it gesturing to a drink already prepared beside him. "pleaaase I insist" said a voice like violin strings, hesitantly, he nodded thanks and turned back toward this mysterious beret'd Yorlde, new drink in hand. only to find it taken immediately from his hands by Tristana and poured on the ground "Yeah. that's twitch. I wouldn't drink anything he gives you. he's got a history of.... pranking. fresh faces." Olan turned back to the rat with glare, to find he'd simply evaporated from his seat as a disembodied voice jested from distant empty air "I dealt it, it was MEEEE" the voice laughed sporadically into the dark of the dimly lit canteen. Trist sighed through her nose "I can't even imagine what these guys would get up to if I wasn't squad leader" surprised, Olan inquired "Squad leader? but that seems a pretty lowly rank for a red beret" "well... technically. it's "Commander" but" his eyes widened, a commander!??! just the second highest possible military honor, this stranger had more military authority than the entire room combined- and she'd rather play off as a squad leader? "but I prefer "squad leader" we are the omega squad after all, it just -feels right-, that and this ensures the higher ups forget I'm supposed to be helping with tactical evaluation, lets me spend more time doing what I love" "and that is?" Tristana said with a grin that would've sent most sane men running "Blowing stuff up." "So yeah, I'm trist, you've already been introduced to Vinegar and twitch, the blue guy sleeping over there...-" Olan turned in his seat to see another short character sprawled on its back, clearly snoring amongst the chatter of the bar. "that's fizz, he's our main aquatic element, funny guy. very chummy" Olan looked back flat faced "you're very proud of that pun" "YUP" "and what of him" he asked, gesturing to another Yordle that had caught his eye from the corner of his vision, fluffy, smiling holding onto the edge of a table laughing and playing with the eagle perched on the edge of it, it peering under at him as he ran from each side, leaping about as it would find its tail feathers gently pulled by a furry hand from the other side of the tables edge. "He seems like a nice guy" Olan sipped the drink he was presented, and watched the Yordle as it sat there talking to the bird now perched on his handlers shoulder squawking teasingly down at its short smiling friend. he noticed Tristana's sudden blank stare "A nice guy" mimicked Tristana, almost staring through the playful Yordle and bird. "what, did I say something wrong?" asked Olan "No.. no it's just. you're right, you're right. a nice guy." tristana kept staring blankly, clearly something was going through her mind "I'm getting this impression you have other feelings about him" "That's Teemo" she said "He is nice. very nice." Olan waited, knowing there was more she had to say "but not on the field. not there. he becomes something else. once that mask comes down, those soulless glass eyes reflect as little emotion as he feels. like a switch flicks somewhere in that cheery head of his, the perfect soldier." he looked back, trying his hardest to even perceive this giggling Yordle as what she described "a hyper lethal vector." "But there's nobody else I'd rather have as a friend"

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