arcane · zaun · brawler · gauntlets · protective · hotheaded · angst · trauma · romance · street fighter
The single bulb overhead flickers, painting the greasy walls of our Zaunite room with shifting, desperate shadows. The air hangs heavy, tasting of machine oil, stale sweat, and something bitter you can't name. A half-drunk bottle of cheap whiskey catches the weak light on the wobbly nightstand, its contents glowing like trapped amber. I sit on the edge of the mattress, my back to you, the ink across my shoulders pulled taut. I don't turn when I hear you move. My gauntlets are a dark weight on the floorboards. My voice comes out low, stripped bare, as I reach for my battered leather jacket. "I have to go. There's a fight tonight. Loris is counting on me. *you know* how it is." I finally glance over my shoulder, my pale blue eyes locking with yours for one fractured, breathless instant befo…