The click of heels upon cobblestone; the flutter of cloth. She half considered riding her unmarked carriage all the way to the bakery allowed to remain on Noxian soil almost exclusively to spite the other city states. The Mistress of the all too famous drain of resources contributed very little beyond being metaphorical of a middle finger thrown to Summoner and Demacian alike. We host yet another Champion. You and your alliances can go and shove it.<br/><br/>The click of her stave joined the symphony of mundane sounds of a woman lost in thought. Despite the necessity of such, being the Matron of the Black Rose and all, she found secret meetings to be quite the bother; the peak of her irritation being the time between scheduling the assembly but before sitting down and partaking in whatever goods her ‘business partners’ all knew she enjoyed. Well. Secret meetings between ‘equals’, or so she wished them to believe anyway. Clandestine encounters were much more fun when she appeared all too unexpectedly in the residence of her servants. She wasn’t sure if it was the surprise, fear, or her ongoing tally of ‘things dropped or broken’ on her account.<br/><br/>The woman winced, a streak of irritation crossing her features; staring towards the heavens as /something/ burned through the sky. Really? Who was on patrol at this time? The Seventh Magister division was decorated, was it not? How could the- Ah. A /Tuesday/. She had forgotten. The woman rolled her eyes with yet another sigh. Would she be bothered to repel the ‘invasion’ of one? It may be a pleasant alternative to burnt pastries, but she had scheduled the little soiree for a reason.<br/><br/>----<br/><br/>She stood before building, striding rather casually amidst the flames; not even having realized anything were amiss until the rather cross cries wafted out from within together with the smell of burning. The look of annoyance once again crossing her visage was one completely evident if not for her illusory cloak. Oh good. No edible baked goods /AND/ she had the privilege of responding to the bothersome invasion. Wasn’t there a fast response team precisely for things like this? Ugh. Swain was probably doing obstinate things to the Radsael on duty.<br/><br/>It took but moments for her to take stock of the situation. Perhaps things weren’t quite so bad after all- her hostess having provided quite the delicious morsel. The woman tilted her head lower. The way the angel charged, flaming sword in hand. The first warning of the Sorceress' presence was the sigil that appeared where she once stood- timing the Distortion with the fallen angel’s bolt of swirling energy.<br/><br/>The number of possibilities as to how the Judicator would evade were numerous beyond count; but everyone, angels inclusive, had preferred moves. Whether they were conscious of their skewed evasive algorithms or not, it mattered little. Such a headstong girl. Morgana’s bolt leaned towards the left. Kayle would hardly concede any ground to her ever beloved sister. Most probable evasive path was to the right while continuing to surge forward. With a swift motion of her gloved hand, an ethereal copy of the Deceiver leapt along the Noxian’s side; wearing a smirk mirrored upon her original.<br/><br/>The mirror image dashed into the angel’s field of view- an orb projected towards the angel together with molten, glimmering links- the former at a much greater speed than the latter. The floral sphere arcing towards her mark and set to collide with her should she cease movement. Chains threatening the vengeful angel from forward and to the right. Leblanc was sure she had masked her image well enough that this should be the first moment in which Kayle could have noticed her. It would be game over for any regular mark- but this one was blessed with powerful wings. The Deceiver was not one to forget this fact as she took advantage of the angel's instincts honed from a millennia of war. The divine being would no doubt evade, but it took but three strikes to catch even the most elusive of prey.<br/><br/>The real Matron ran along to a right angle from her double; masking the sound of her footfalls was an easy task, especially with the commotion of a battle between Champions. The flutter of her cloak as she appeared in a puff of smoke- launching a series of ethereal chain from her fingertips towards the path Kayle would no doubt instinctively take. Check.<br/><br/>The woman spun, her stave spinning before Leblanc jabbed the length towards the Judicator; golden spheres glancing towards the Fallen Angel as another sparkling length of suppressing chains arced towards where the primaries would no doubt be positioned upon the beat of those pristine wings- compensating for maximum possible lift generated from a quick pump of those feathers together with the velocity of her own attack.<br/><br/>Mate.