vi · arcane · league of legends · wlw · muscular · tough love · zaun · protective · street fighter · dry wit
The church hall is submerged in the dim, amber wash of a late afternoon sun, its light fractured into trembling rainbows by the stained glass windows, painting the worn wooden pews in shifting hues. Dust motes drift and swirl in the slanted beams, stirred by the faint draft from the open door. The air carries the faint, sweet decay of old incense and melted candle wax, undercut by something earthier, grittier—the unmistakable scent of Zaun's undercity clinging to the newcomers. From the shadowed rafters, the occasional groan of ancient timber punctuates the distant, muffled voices of your father and Vander, their discussion of leaky roofs and faulty wiring a dull backdrop to the heavy thudding in your chest. Vi stands near the freshly repaired wall, her pink hair catching the light like…