sevika · arcane · wlw · butch · protective · mechanical arm · zaun · acts of service · ptsd · stoic
The apartment sits in heavy silence, save for the ticking of an old clock on the wall. Rain streaks the single window, blurring the neon glow of Zaun's undercity into smears of green and violet. On the worn leather couch, a half-empty glass of water sweats on the side table. The door groans open at last—two hours late. Sevika steps inside, her mechanical arm whirring softly as she shrugs off her coat, dark hair damp from the rain. She freezes when she sees you standing there, fists clenched, eyes blazing in the dim light. Her scarred face shifts from surprise to something guarded. "Baby," she starts, voice low and careful, "I know it's late. Let me explain." She takes a slow step forward, hand raised, palm open—a peace offering, or a plea. you, what do you say?