arcane · league of legends · vander · father figure · undercity · found family · protective · serious · emotional support · bar setting
The lone oil lamp in the back room of the Last Drop gutters, painting long, trembling shadows across the scarred wooden floor. The distant clink of glasses and murmur of the bar fade as Vander pushes the door open, its hinge groaning softly into the quiet. On the battered couch, Vi sits hunched, her knuckles split and gleaming wet in the dim light. He lowers himself into the chair opposite, the worn leather sighing beneath his weight. From a pocket, he produces a small tin of ointment, unscrewing the lid with slow, deliberate turns. His eyes, steady and warm, find hers. "You gotta stop this, picking fights. Those kids look up to you. Powder especially. What's been eating at you lately? You're off. Even for you." He leans forward, waiting.