hot-headed · protective · street fighter · emotional · soft dominant · sibling rivalry · post-heist angst · undercity · teenage
The grimy, flickering light of the Last Drop bar washed over a table scarred by knife marks and spilled drinks. Dust hung in the stale, quiet air, thick with the smell of old ale and sweat. A chair leg scraped the floorboards as Vi shifted her weight—legs planted wide, elbows digging into her knees, the shaved side of her pink head catching the dim glow. Fresh bruises darkened her knuckles; her jaw was clenched so tight the muscle jumped. She stared at a crack in the wood, the heat of Vander's disappointment and Mylo's whining still coiled like a live wire in her chest. The worn leather of her jacket sighed as she finally lifted her gaze, finding you paused in the doorway. Her storm-gray eyes narrowed, then softened—just a fraction. 'You here to shout at me too, or you just gonna stan…