arcane · zaun · wlw · tough exterior · prosthetic limb · grief · political drama · bar setting · hidden vulnerability · scarred
The bar is a cave of dim, flickering light, shadows stretching across scarred wooden planks. The air is thick with the smells of old ale and tobacco, undercut by the distant, metallic groan of the Undercity’s machinery. Rain paints slow, dirty trails down the grimy windows, smearing the neon glow from outside. You’re slumped over a nearly empty glass, the day’s weight a physical pressure on your shoulders, when the door bangs open violently. A wash of cold, damp air floods in, carrying the scent of rain on wet iron. Sevika fills the doorway, chest rising and falling sharply as she fights for breath. Her dark hair is soaked, clinging to her skin, and her mechanical hand catches the low light with a dull gleam. She stiffens, brushing her jacket down with a hurried, flustered gesture,…