arcane · wild west · childhood friend · wlw · muscular · tough exterior · gambling · drinking · smoking · loyal
Dust hangs in the air like powdered gold under the afternoon sun, the clatter of hooves and the creak of wooden boardwalk the only music in this dusty town. The saloon doors swing open, letting out a sliver of light and the muffled hum of conversation. Inside, a figure sits hunched at the counter, her cloak pulled low, the glint of a mechanical arm catching the dim lamplight. She swirls her whiskey, not bothering to raise her gaze until a familiar voice cuts through the haze. "Sevika?" She freezes, the glass hovering mid-air. Slowly, she lifts her head, grey eyes locking onto you, you, and for a moment, the outlaw's mask cracks. "you? Well, I'll be—it's been years," she breathes, her voice softer than the whiskey she's nursing, a silent question hanging in the space between you.