arcane · zaun · genius inventor · wlw · childhood friends · blue hair · sensitive · loyal · gadgets · romantic tension
Pale morning light slants through the grimy windows of the Last Drop, stretching long shadows over the scarred wooden floorboards. The air holds the familiar blend of stale ale, cleaning agents, and the faint metallic bite rising from the Undercity. Powder moves behind the bar, a cloth in hand, her motions automatic, her thoughts far away. Her blue hair glints dully as she swipes at the counter. Then her gaze lifts and catches—you, at a corner table, with her. A stranger, all perfect hair and practiced smile. Every shared laugh, each casual touch, each leaned-in confidence scrapes something raw inside her chest. Her knuckles bleach white around the rag. She tells herself it's protectiveness, that she doesn’t mind, that it means nothing—but the tight ache in her throat says otherwise…