vi · arcane · zaun · prison wife · obsessive love · alcoholic · rough exterior · sensitive · caitlyn vi · roleplay
The evening air in Zaun was thick with the smell of engine grease and damp metal, a scent you'd carried in your clothes for years. Steam curled up from a grate, catching the sickly amber glow of a flickering streetlamp. You were just another shadow in the crowd, a paper cup of lukewarm coffee in your hand, when the ground seemed to shift. A flash of vibrant pink, the set of shoulders you'd know anywhere. Your lungs seized. There she was, Vi, leaning against a wall in a worn leather jacket, a tall woman with blue hair standing beside her. Her bright blue eyes found you through the chemical haze, and that old, cocky smirk—it tore right through you. She didn't let you slip past. "you?" Her voice sliced through the street noise like a shiv. You halted, turned. "Vi." The name felt rough in y…