Chapter Text
The Hound watched the Sheriff approach him. The woman was on edge. It must have been something about the way he had sent her a random summons. Or maybe it was because of the way he sat in Benzo’s empty shop, the atmosphere quiet and looming. Not that she was really showing it; she was as firm and calm as ever, but he could spot the cracks well enough to know that her grip wasn’t quite iron.
“Vander. What is this about? You never call me like this, not without something big happening first.”
“Something has happened.” He was nursing a bottle of water. His throat was going to get worked tonight, and it was already raspy. “I have been changed.”
The Sheriff was startled. He was surprised to see it so soon. He wasn’t sure if he had been overestimating her or underestimating himself. He wondered how quickly the growing apprehension in her could be turned to fear.
“What do you mean?” The Sheriff asked, her voice softening slightly. “What happened to you Vander?”
The Hound shook his head, “That isn’t the right question.” He took a swig from the bottle and noted the concern on the woman’s face. “The correct question is, what else will be changing with me?”
She was watching him, trying to piece his words and the situation together into something she understood. He took another swig of water, and to his amusement, he realized that the bottle was indistinguishable from a bottle of alcohol. The Sheriff thought he was drinking, which he was sure only led to more assumptions and conclusions about what had happened.
After a long moment of silence, the Sheriff spoke once more, “Please, talk to me Vander. I want to help you, but you’ve got to give me something.”
And the thing was, he could hear the genuine care in her voice. The Sheriff held actual concern for him and wanted to know if she could help make it better. The problem was she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.
“My pups live in constant danger. The air and water is poisoned. There are no paths not filled with strife. I will not let this stand.” His voice was firm and commanding. He would not waver on this. He would make his territory better for his pups or die trying. He would not see what had happened to them happen again. And if he could save more of his people while he was at it, then all the better. He wanted to have more than one grandpup one day, and he wanted those grandpups to live long and happy lives.
“You’re doing plenty good,” the Sheriff soothed, trying to coax him into stagnation for her own sake. “You know violence would only make things worse, the people-”
“Who said violence was the answer?” He asked, eyebrow raised. The Sheriff had obviously not been expecting this, because her mouth snapped shut. “No, I do not wish for violence, but if things do not change soon then violence will be the only answer left.”
The Sheriff sighed, “Vander, it isn’t that simple. The Council-”
This wasn’t going to work. They would just talk in circles about things they both already knew. The Sheriff didn’t understand what was at stake here. Sighing, he put down his water.
Before she could react, the Hound lunged. One hand went around the Sheriff’s wrists, pinning them firmly to the table. The other wrapped around her throat, her pulse quick and jumpy against his palm. She gasped and tried to jerk away, but the Hound held firm.
“V-vander-!”
“I’m not going to strangle you, Sheriff. But I want you to feel my skin against yours and know that I could. Piltover is not invulnerable, and if you will not help me make things better, then I will go over you and do it myself. Do you understand?”
He could feel her quick breaths. Could feel her swallow. The apprehension had turned into fear. He wished she had just listened, hadn’t pushed him to this, but he would not back down.
“I understand, Vander.” The Sheriff croaked out. “Now let me go.”
She was trying to stay calm, to stay in control, despite his hand holding her neck in an easy, firm grip. He had never done much playing with his prey after he had become a monster. He had always been too quick to kill for that. But now, he had no intention to kill. He shifted his hand up slightly, forcing the Sheriff to raise her chin and further bare her neck. He used a thumb to press against her jaw, tilting her head to the side.
“Are you going to fight me, Sheriff? Will you stand in my way, when I come up there and work for a better life for my pack?”
Despite her position, the Sheriff didn’t cower. Her body held an appropriate amount of caution, but she clenched her jaw before she spoke. “Only so long as what you are doing isn’t endangering innocent civilians.”
And the Hound had to give her some respect for that. She spoke firmly, ensuring he knew that she believed what she said, but he could also tell that she knew he would most likely not want to hear that. And despite knowing it might make him angry, despite knowing he could snap her neck, she had said it anyway.
With a long, deep hum, he slowly retracted his hand from around her throat, keeping her wrists firmly locked against the table as he took a drink of water.
“You keep your convictions even in the face of pain and threats. You are a strong woman Sheriff. I am glad to have prevented your death.”
He let her wrists go, and while she tucked them close to herself immediately he knew that her focus was on his words.
“What are you talking about? Who-”
“It is no longer a concern. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be. I wouldn’t start letting your guard down.” He took another drink. Why did his throat have to get so sore from talking? This body was used to talking, it should be easy! “Now go. Skurry back topside and start talking to your friends in high places. I have the feeling they’ll take a talk from you better than a talk from me.”
The Sheriff opened her mouth to protest, but the Hound stood, his shadow falling over her as he loomed.
“Good luck Sheriff. You’re going to need it.”
And with that, he walked out of the room, leaving the Sheriff time to breathe and think.