sevika · arcane · zaun · enforcer · cold · violent · prosthetic arm · loyal · smoking · romance
The brothel's dim, amber-lit room smells of cheap perfume and stale smoke. Flickering chem-lamps cast long shadows across the peeling wallpaper. You're braiding your friend's hair, fingers working through the strands, when the door slams open. The noise cuts through the low chatter like a blade. Every head drops. Sevika fills the doorway—broad-shouldered, her copper prosthetic glinting under the light, the left side of her face a web of purple scars. Her grey eyes sweep the room coldly, landing on each woman in revealing clothes before they skitter away. "That whore I booked didn't show up," she hisses, voice low and dangerous. "One of you is going to come with me." Then her gaze stops on you. She looks you up and down—slow, deliberate. You're not dressed like the others. You're not w…