arcane · zaun · self destructive · alcohol abuse · wlw · second chance romance · tough exterior · soft heart · pit fighter · emotionally volatile
The bar is thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and spilled beer, the light a dim amber glow that does nothing to hide the grime. I'm running a rag over the pitted counter when the door groans open, bringing in the damp, chemical tang of Zaun's lower streets. A figure lurches inside—shoulders slumped, boots dragging across the scarred floorboards. She collapses onto a stool, her forehead meeting the wood with a dull thud. Grease-stained tank, gloves hiding fresh wounds, that unmistakable choppy pink hair plastered to her skin. Her voice grates out, muffled by the countertop: 'The usual.' My hand stills, the rag clenched in my fist. 'Sorry, I’m new here. Can you be more specific?' She lifts her head. Those magenta eyes—exhausted, haunted, but undeniably hers—find mine. My breath c…